


I've Served My Time In Hell

by TheSleepingOne (SleepingNebula)



Series: I've Served My Time In Hell [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, I promise, Pining, Post-Break Up, Slow Burn, Tagging as I go, so much pining, which will be rectified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 110,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23419333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingNebula/pseuds/TheSleepingOne
Summary: Few people stand at the end of the world, and it surprises no-one that Obi-Wan is one of them.  The galaxy, after all, has never been kind enough to grant him peace.  And he certainly isn’t going to get it now; the dead roam the streets, raiders control the town and his ex makes an appearance for the first time in five years.[Or, Obi-Wan and Cody meet again after the end of the world, and the Fett family are really scary when one of their own is involved]
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Series: I've Served My Time In Hell [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742836
Comments: 258
Kudos: 823





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obi-Wan's day manages to go from bad to worse.  
> Just the usual then.
> 
> All mistakes can be attributed to sleep deprivation x

It’s an obvious risk, going back into the centre, but it’s a risk he doesn’t have much choice about taking. Two days of supplies aren’t going to be nearly enough to get them to the next town over, even if everything goes to plan. Which it never does. And he’s going to lose what’s left of his sanity if he has to eat another tin of corned beef or one of Anakin’s scavenging specials.

Not that any of that changes the fact that the store has been stripped well before his arrival. It’s been months now, since the outbreak, and anything of use has been long since claimed. But he still has to try; they need to leave tonight, while they still have a slight chance of being able to move on. The longer they linger here, the more likely they are to starve here too. In the ass-end of _nowhere_. And despite everything, he’s always pictured his death as something more dramatic, and certainly nothing as passive as starving.

He sweeps down the aisles anyway, _just in case_ , but despite his efforts there's nothing. It's no great surprise, the supermarkets in the big cities hadn't been any more generous and they’d been crawling with the dead, in the literal sense. Which means in some ways, this one is better.

Besides the odd desiccated vegetable, decayed beyond recognition, and a box of coffee creamer wedged at the back of a broken shelf (which he takes anyway, because they _might_ be that desperate), the shelves are bare. Usually, inane things remain, even after the place has been scavenged. The things that nobody would buy, even in a sane world, are left behind because they’re not worth the weight. It’s as if this place has been cleaned out methodically and it makes Obi-Wan uncomfortable, like he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. The sort of missing information that lands you very dead, very quickly.

He vaults over the counter and rifles through the cash desk. It’s been stripped of all cash, though that isn’t particularly surprising. In the optimistic first days of the outbreak, when people thought everything would return to normal, looting had been rife. Only cash isn’t a valid form of currency anymore, because the world _hasn’t_ returned to normal. Instead, he’s hoping to find a key for the door out the back, but whoever cleaned the place out did a thorough job.

There’s nothing.

Obi-Wan runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. He’s been up since dawn, working his way down the highstreet and through the few houses he could find a way into, and he has absolutely _kriff_ _all_ to show for it. He can picture the look on their faces when he comes back with nothing. Again. Even the idea of returning back empty-handed hurts, and so to delay the inevitable he tries the door to the storeroom anyway, despite the fact it’s clearly chained shut.

The handle is locked as well as the padlock, but it doesn’t feel particularly strong, and after a moment of debate he gets out his knife. It slips easily enough between the frame and the door, and when he twists it there’s a snapping sound as the lock is torn away. He pauses for a moment, but there’s no sound from within in the room, so he pushes the door open as far as it will go with the chain still intact.

Inside it’s dark and the air smells of must and rot. He wrinkles his nose and retrieves his torch from his backpack to look inside. The walls are lined with industrial storage shelving and there doesn’t look to be anything dangerous in there. Motes of dust swirl in the torch light. Clearly, nobody has been here in a while, but that can only be a good thing.

As much as he hates enclosed spaces with limited escape routes, he can’t just walk away from the possibility of supplies, so he shrugs off his backpack and squeezes through the gap. Either it’s just big enough, or he’s just small enough because it’s a tight fit, but he makes it and pulls the bag after him.

Knife in one hand and torch in the other he pushes himself to his feet. The air tastes stale and warm and he’s sure the amount of dust in the air can’t be healthy, but then neither is starving to death, so he pushes his discomfort aside and begins to scour the shelves. Most of the stuff seems to be for maintenance; there’s buckets and mops and industrial cans of engine oil, but it’s there when nothing else is. Which means he’s perhaps the first one here.

Stacked at the back, in the far corner, he finds some unopened boxes. Not daring to hope, he uses his knife to slit them open. Inside are cans, and when he pulls them out he finds they’re _food_. Chickpeas, peaches and beans to be exact. They don’t exactly make a traditional meal, but they’re edible and that’s the best he could hope for. It’s all they need.

A few of the cans are warped and look like they’re about to explode, and it’s with regret that he puts them to one side, because food poising isn’t a nicer way to go than starvation. Most of the cans, though, are good and he begins to shove them in his backpack. There’s twenty-three in total. That’s enough to get them out of town, perhaps even two towns over if they ration them right.

 _Jackpot_.

Ahsoka’s going to love the peaches. She hasn’t had fruit in well over a month, not since they had to leave the orchard, and she’s supposed to be still growing. They try to do their best for her, but the world doesn’t always want to accommodate them. It’s a hard line to walk between wanting to protect her and teaching her everything she needs to know in order to survive in this new world. Sometimes he thinks-

There’s the sound of rustling behind him and Obi-Wan freezes as the hairs on his neck stand on end. The air moves and something rancid drifts towards him with a suffocating animosity. His stomach drops even as his stance does, ready for a fight, the backpack forgotten at his feet. The scraping gets lounder, more persistent and it’s between him and the door.

Coming here had always been a risk.

It seems it might not have paid off.

He hopes that if he stays still enough, the thing might not notice him. But he can’t bring himself to turn the torch off, because then he won’t even have the option to fight back, which means _of_ _course_ it notices him, even if it hadn’t before. He notices _it_ too, when it pulls itself up from behind a packing crate, all rotten flesh and no humanity. Not anymore.

It begins to crawl directly towards him, milky pupils flickering as they try to focus. This particular one doesn’t appear to be too damaged, which makes it special. Usually they tear each other apart in their hunger, if they’re not fed well enough, or they lose the occasional fight with the living. This one looks as intact as the day it was infected; flesh a rotten brown, mottled with bruises and misshapen where the muscles have wasted, with eyes that still move, a throat that can still scream and teeth that can still cause fatal damage.

How could he have been so stupid? _Of course_ , there’s a reason no-one else has been here. _Of course,_ there’s a reason the room was locked.

His fingers tighten around the knife, and he adjusts his grip. It’s designed for hunting – gutting animals specifically – which means he can only use it in close quarters, and as a general rule, once you’re that close to the dead, you soon join them. He’d hoped for a quick in and out mission, one where he didn’t have any contact with the living or the dead. Not that the galaxy really _cares_ what he hopes for.

It crawls on top of the crate before leaning back on its haunches to sniff the air, face twitching irritably. Obi-Wan holds his breath. It doesn’t help. The thing goes from stationary to airborne in less than a second as it leaps off the crate. He staggers backwards to avoid being caught by its landing, but it scampers forwards inhumanly fast anyway and then it’s on him, noxious breath inches from his face. The force of the thing’s weight knocks him off balance and he falls onto his back hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.

The torch goes flying from his hand and it’s all he can do to react, using all of his strength to push the creature away by its shoulders, gulping in tainted air. He manages to keep a hold of the knife through sheer will power, but can’t use it _and_ stop the thing from mauling his face off. The torch stops rolling and the beam settles unhelpfully on the creature’s face.

He didn’t need to _see_ what his death looks like.

The thing utters a piercing screech, calling all of its friends to the feast, and tries to scratch off Obi-Wan’s face with dirty yellow nails. He fervently hopes there aren’t any more of them around because he definitely can’t take more than one of them with just a knife. He can’t take _this_ one.

It seems to only be interested in clawing at his head – which he guesses is where the good bits are – and it allows him to shift the thing’s weight with his legs so he can hold it further away. Teeth gritted from the effort of holding the creature back, he manages to shift his foot so he can kick the thing hard enough to loosen its grip and send it back onto the crate. The wood splits and the thing howls in frustration as Obi-Wan pushes himself to his feet.

If you asked Obi-Wan how he thought he’d die two years ago, he wouldn’t have said ripped apart by a corpse wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon of a mushroom and _funguy_ written across the chest. Though he might have been able to tell you it’s because he’s finally bitten off more than he can chew.

Somethings never change.

The thing recovers quick enough that they’re both on their feet at the same time. He remembers at the start of the outbreak when all of the research into a cure was focused on the nervous system, because the inflicted can’t feel pain. And if they can’t feel pain then they have nothing to hold them back, no guiding inhibition. Which makes them a karking nightmare to fight because they don’t tire and anything but a mortal injury has no effect.

He flicks the knife so that his grip is reversed, and the sharp part of the blade runs parallel to his arm, ideal for slicing strikes. Close quarters may be the worst way to fight these things, but it’s not like he has any other options open to him and he’ll be kriffed if he’s going to leave it for Anakin and Ahsoka when they inevitable come looking for him. If he’s going, so be it, but this thing is coming with him.

It certainly comes _at_ him, flinging itself with reckless abandon into the air. Obi-Wan is ready for it this time though, has a better idea of its speed and movements. He uses his knife arm to interrupt its trajectory and protect himself from the brunt of the landing, darting under an arm to get behind it. The knife finds a space between its ribs as he passes under, a fight-ending blow for anyone living, but the thing doesn’t even flinch, instead twisting to follow him with a snarl.

Congealed brown blood reflects the light of the torch and Obi-Wan realises he’s made a mistake because now the thing is in front of the light and he’s being blinded by it. When it swipes towards him, he can’t really see it and his defence is more of a guess than anything else. A guess and years of experience. There’s a trade of swipes and blows, with Obi-Wan mostly defending and the thing mostly attack, grasping for flesh.

Then the thing kicks the torch, sending it skidding. It flickers and goes out, plunging the room in a darkness the crack of light at the door can’t protect against. He doesn’t even have time to curse because the thing doesn’t need light to see, and it finds him with grasping fingers. In his effort to get away from its teeth, they both end up back on the floor, Obi-Wan’s shoulder taking the brunt of the fall.

The knife never leaves his grip and he clings to it like the life line it is, fighting the thing’s grip on his arm to get it between them. At least, what he _thinks_ is between them. He only has the putrid warmth of its breath on his cheek to judge it by, and he’s not entirely sure its neck is still at the right angle. With all of his strength he stops focusing on pushing it _away_ from him and starts to pull it _towards_ the knife with his other hand.

For a moment neither of them give an inch of space, but then the thing jerks reflexively in that inhuman way it does and the tip of the knife finds bone. There’s a wet crunch and a soft oozing sound as skull gives way to metal and keeps giving way, then the fight seems to leave it and the corpse becomes just that – a corpse. Only this time without life.

After a beat, he shoves it away in disgust and allows himself to lie on the floor to catch his breath as relief floods his system. A shaking laugh escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. How could he have been such an _idiot_? Next time he’ll listen when Anakin suggests they travel in pairs (even if they are a three and he’d never dream of leaving Ahsoka alone).

There’s the sound of something outside and just like that the relief flees his system, replaced by dread. He pushes himself to his feet and spins to face the door just as a silhouette cuts off the small shaft of light.

“Cover me, I’m sure I heard something,” a voice says.

Obi-Wan blindly reaches out for his knife, but he can’t see where the corpse rolled to in the dark and all he can feel are the blood slick tiles. It’s not like he can hide either, because it’s astoundingly obvious the kill is new. _Kark._

“It’s locked,” a different voice says.

“I can see that,” the first says dryly, and it niggles something in the back of his mind but there isn’t time for that so he pushes it aside. “It’s not like that’s stopped me before.”

 _Karkkarkkark_.

His fingertips find the edge of a shirt and he blindly works his way up the body until he finds hair. A boot makes contact with the door and it protests by pulling the chain dangerously taunt. The edge of the knife nicks the side of his palm and he muffles a curse. He manages to grab the handle and tugs, but it doesn’t come free. The boot kicks the door again as Obi-Wan twists the knife, and this time it flies open without protest, flooding the room with light.

The knife finally comes free and he spins to face the new threat, shielding his eyes with the other arm. Two people stand in the doorway, framed by light far too bright to see past.

“Woah,” the first voice says, the one that’s responsible for the door and the one that Obi-Wan knows from somewhere.

“What happened here?” the one behind asks. The accents are similar. Familiar.

Obi-Wan lowers his arm as his eyes adjust, but keeps the knife ready.

There’s a moment when the man in the door visibly recoils, before recovering and taking a confused step forward into the shadow. “ _Obi-Wan?_ ”

He _does_ know that voice. “ _Cody?_ ”

***

Neither of them move and Obi-Wan is too confused to lower the knife.

“What are you doing here?” is what Cody decides is the best way to greet him after five years apart. He even manages to sound indignant.

Sometimes Obi-Wan really hates his life.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

He cranes his neck to the side and squints. If this is Cody, then Obi-Wan would bet what’s left of his dignity – which admittedly isn’t much – that the other is Rex. Where one brother is, the other is never far behind.

“You could, but I asked first,” Cody says, lowering his rifle. Rex moves to stand by his sides, a handgun in each hand.

Obi-Wan looks at the corpse to his left and the growing pool of blood, feeling slightly lost. Of all of the things he was prepared to face today, which included death, capture and ridiculous feats of suicidal brilliance, this wasn’t among them. A small part of him would rather commence round two with the dead than stand here and have this conversation.

“Foraging?” he offers.

Rex snorts. “Looks like it.”

“Yes, _well_. I got rather side-tracked.”

“You don’t say,” Rex drawls before looking at Cody, assessing his reaction. He doesn’t look particularly happy, but then none of them do.

They all stand there in awkward silence. Obi-Wan lowers his knife because he figures if they want him dead then it isn’t going to stop their three combined firearms. _And_ the fact, he’d be hard pressed to take them both in hand-to-hand.

“Right.” Cody says. “Right, we… we should get moving. You made a hell of a noise, we could hear you from the street, and we don’t want to be around when the locals show up.”

Ah, yes. The locals are less than friendly. Obi-Wan’s initial concern was that the two in front of him were raiders from the town hall. At least then he’d know where he stood with them.

“No,” Obi-Wan agrees.

None of them move.

“Is… is it dead?” Cody asks, eyeing the corpse with distrust.

Obi-Wan nods and nudges it with his foot to roll it onto its back. In the light of the doorway it looks even more disfigured, though that’s largely down to the new gaping hole in its forehead. “Didn’t want to be though.”

Rex grins, and Obi-Wan is grateful that at least one of the Fett brothers might not completely hate his guts. “You look like absolute shit.”

“Thanks.”

“You said you were foraging?” Cody asks, ignoring his brother. “Did you find anything?”

Obi-Wan hesitates. They don’t owe each other anything, not anymore. And he so badly need to get out of town. But if they need to get out of town, then Cody and Rex must too. Obi-Wan finds himself hard pressed to see them in league with raiders. He also isn’t completely heartless. Once he considered it his life’s purpose to help others, and if other people need food… well, he never really stopped feeling for-

“Yes,” he decides. “Have you got a torch?”

Cody pulls something from his trouser pocket and throws it to Obi-Wan, who catches it with his free hand. He turns it on and looks down at the corpse. Blood is smeared in an arc on the floor where they fell, and he’s covered in a fair share too. None of it is his though. At least he _thinks_ it isn’t. Despite the thing’s best efforts, it never did manage to get its’ teeth into him.

It reminds him of that time in Ryloth-

No. He doesn’t need to go there. Today is bad enough.

There’s going to be no hiding that something happened from Anakin and Ahsoka either, and as much as he doesn’t want to worry them, he can’t explain away _quite_ so much blood. Which somehow makes this day even better; he gets to face Anakin’s mother hen instincts when he gets back. Wistfully, he wishes for the comforts of home; being able to wash his clothes in something that isn’t a stream or bucket of water. Being able to actually get them _clean_. Not that these clothes are recoverable, which is a shame because he _likes_ this shirt. It’s _comfortable_.

“You didn’t get bit, did you?” Rex asks suddenly. Cody frowns.

Obi-Wan shakes his head and casts the light about the room. _Don’t worry, you’ll be gone before I have chance to turn anyway,_ he thinks and then sighs because that’s unkind. “No.”

“Don’t need to sound so upset about that.”

He gives Rex a sad smile and crouches to clean his knife on the thing’s shirt before tucking it into the back of his belt. The mushroom stares back at him pathetically. His hands are sticky with blood and he wipes them on his trousers as best as he can, but he’s going to need to wash to get properly clean. The worst part is the smell.

“What did you find?” Cody asks patiently. His voice is carefully controlled.

“A few cans.”

He gets back to his feet and makes his way over to his discarded bag. It’s avoided the fight and he slings it over his shoulder. The cans clank together and he winces as the noise. He finds his own torch where its rolled beneath a shelf because of the spiral of blood it leaves in its wake. Not that it wants to turn on and he shakes it with a sigh, but it doesn’t seem to help and he shoves it into his pocket.

He turns to say they probably should follow Cody’s advice and make themselves scarce when there’s the sound of something outside.

“ _Shit_ ,” Rex mutters as Cody shoulders his rifle. “Take cover.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s not like there can be anymore of his long-lost exes crawling around the town, which means it’s the raiders they’re all so desperate to avoid. Cody flattens himself against the wall by the right side of the door, while he and Rex do the same on the left. He shoulders the bag’s other strap in case they need to run and draws his knife.

He knows better than to say this day couldn’t get any worse.

“You sure it came from here?” a voice with an odd, mechanical quality asks.

“It was a howler alright and you know the boss’ policy on them,” another equally distorted voice replies.

He listens for the footsteps, not the speakers. They tread with an aggressiveness too loud to be from formal training, but too confident to be inexperienced. There’s more than those that have spoken too, entering from the side door behind the cash desk and spreading out through the shop. Obi-Wan’s grip shifts on his knife. If they decide to check out the back, then they’re going to be forced to fight their way out. Besides him, Rex leans onto his front foot.

“Check the back.”

“ _Rodger_.”

Obi-Wan grits his teeth against the bastardisation of proper comms etiquette. It’s like something out of a film, which he thinks is probably where they’ve got it from.

A set of footsteps get closer, making a beeline strait for them. Rex curses under his breath, bringing up his guns as Cody leans into the butt of his rifle. For the first time in a long time, Obi-Wan wishes he had his own weapons system back.

The respirator appears round the door before the man does, giving the whole scenario a bizarrely apocalyptic vibe, _even_ for an apocalypse. The raider swings his shotgun in an arc around the room, missing Cody entirely and landing on the corpse.

“They’re something back here, the howler maybe,” he says, the rasp of the respirator echoing through the room. “It’s fresh.”

“But dead?” someone calls back.

“Well it isn’t moving.”

There’s a scuffle from the shop and the three of them hold their breath.

“So what got it?” the voice from the shop asks.

The man seems to come to the same conclusion half a second before, already moving towards where Obi-Wan and Rex are hiding.

“Hey-”

Cody cracks him on the back of the head with the butt of his rifle and kicks the back of his knee at the same time, sending him reeling to the floor. “Go!” he hisses.

The man doesn’t fall quietly and the tiles muffle nothing.

“What’s going on back there?”

Instead of answering, they burst out of the door. There are a few seconds where the raiders are too confused to fire back, but it doesn’t last long enough for them to get further than the end of the closest row of shelving before they start to get shot at and they all duck for cover. There are at least four of them, mostly by the main doors, but that’s fine because it leaves their route to the side door clear. Cody leans around the side of the shelf and starts firing.

“Rex!”

“On it.”

Rex taps him to signal they’re moving out and Obi-Wan isn’t about to argue with their system while they’re under fire. With Cody covering their escape, Obi-Wan follows Rex, running around the edge of the shelving and down the side wall, keeping as low as they can, to slide over the counter and crouch behind the till. Rex darts out of cover to lay down fire for Cody to follow them.

There’s shouting from across the shop floor, and the sound of shelving falling over.

Obi-Wan feels useless, but it’s not like he’s going to be any help if he sticks his head out above the counter like Rex. Instead, he makes his way to the door from a crouch and nudges it open to look outside. It must be the way Rex and Cody, and the raiders got inside because there’s a mess of tracks through the alleyway dirt. Two sets lead off down to the left, around the corner and out of sight, while the rest lead right onto the main street. A heavily modified off-roader is parked haphazardly across the entrance and Obi-Wan feels some people may be enjoying the apocalypse a bit _too_ much. ~~~~

But at least it’s empty.

“Clear,” he calls back to Rex.

Rex grunts in affirmation.

“Incoming!” Cody shouts as he vaults over the countertop with far more flair than _strictly_ necessary.

Bullets thud into the coupon display above their heads, sending tattered bits of paper raining down, _like late winter snow_. Little gods, Obi-Wan misses books and metaphors and anything vaguely intellectual beyond scavenging plans and maps. He even misses his students. Some wonders will never cease.

Something flies over the counter and lands with a small thud on the floor by Cody’s feet. There’s no time between the recognition flitting across his face and him lunging to grab the grenade and fling it back the way it came. There isn’t any time for aim, and he doesn’t see where it goes, but he does hear it. The shattering of glass is hard to miss, especially when is ricochets off every available surface including _them_. If adrenaline wasn’t his companion before, it certainly is now.

“Karking hells!” Rex shouts, throwing his arm over his face.

Cody’s look of utter shock morphs into a look of determination. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t need telling twice. He shoulders the door, and holds it open for Rex and then Cody to crawl through. Brick dust from the wall is blasted in their face when the raiders regain their senses and start to fire again.

“This way.” Cody takes off down the alley the way he and Rex came.

Obi-Wan tags behind Rex, bringing up the rear with his clanking bag. Around the corner the alley splits and they fork to the left into an alley that appears to be more residential than business. When Cody kicks down a garden gate seemingly spontaneously, they don’t question it and run after him. The sound of shouting from ahead comes moments later.

They look around for another exit. The garden walls to the terrace house are high, and besides a wild patch of grass and thistles there’s nowhere to hide.

“Inside,” Obi-Wan decides, pushing past both of the Fetts. “Cover me.”

The door is painted a flaking green, but it’s made of wood and has been uncared for long enough to make it fragile. He takes a step back for momentum before bringing the full force of his weight down on the lock – and while that’s not a lot, it’s _almost_ enough. He does it again and then again with slightly more desperation and the door gives way with a satisfying rip of wood.

“Move out,” he calls and tries desperately not to think of how familiar _that_ feels.

Rex and Cody rise from their crouch and run past Obi-Wan into the house. They shove the door shut as best as they can, just as two bodies streak past the end of the garden.

“It won’t take them long to figure out where we’ve gone.” Cody pants and wipes his brows on his sleeve. “We need to get somewhere more discreet.”

Obi-Wan nods and takes a deep breath to calm himself. “You got somewhere in mind?”

He doesn’t question the natural ease with which they seem to be fitting together once more.

That would _hurt_.

“We’re based not far from here, closer to the river. It’s safer than here.”

Rex raises an eyebrow at Cody who shakes his head. Obi-Wan doesn’t ask.

“I’ll follow your lead,” _Commander_ , he so badly wants to add. But he _can’t_ , it’s not like that anymore. There can be no teasing or familiarity or _comfort_. And he’s the one to blame.

“Where do we recon the front door leads?”

Rex doesn’t wait for an answer, turning down the short corridor to take a look. Cody gives Obi-Wan a once over, now they’re no-longer running or hiding in the dark, but his face betrays nothing and then he turns to follow his brother without a word. It’s almost a dismissal. Obi-Wan is an exhausted sigh behind.

“I don’t recognise it exactly,” Rex says from where he’s drawn the curtain back slightly by the front door, “but I think the street at the bottom will lead us along the river.”

Cody joins him. “Maybe,” he agrees.

Obi-Wan doesn’t recognise this part of town. He’s been camped in the outskirts and that’s exactly where he’s left Anakin and Ahsoka. It’s too far away to be of use to them with raiders roaming the streets on high alert. Which means they’re going to have to wait for this to blow over before the happy reunion.

And in the meantime, he has the turbulent waters of an old break-up to navigate.

This part of town is far less rustic and more decrepit. Not that anything _isn’t_ these days. The street opposite is a bank of grey terrace house, and hardly one of them has all of its windows intact. The wilderness is visibly creeping in around the edges, invading the concrete jungle without mercy. _Life endures, after all_. It reminds him a little bit of the abandoned villages they used to patrol through. There’s the same hostile tenseness in the air screaming that _anything_ could happen. And often it did.

“Way’s clear,” Rex says, glancing up and down the street. “We should move on while we still can.”

They slip through the front door and down the garden path, stepping over the remains of the front gate. Crouching low by the garden walls, they move quickly down to the bottom of the road where the houses give way to a large riverbank, crossing the road at the bottom as quickly as they can to reach it. Obi-Wan winces at the sound of raised voices not far away enough for his comfort.

They all pause beneath the cover a disfigured shrub tree lining the waters edge.

“I recon about a mile and a half that way,” Cody says, pointing down stream.

Rex nods and turns to Obi-Wan. “The old bridge is your reference point.”

It’s an old low-level monstrosity built to connect one half of the town to the other. Obi-Wan just nods and follows behind when the brothers move off in a run.

It doesn’t look like he’ll be skipping town tonight.

It takes them far longer than it should to move a mile and a half because the river twists and turns and in places they’re forced to sidestep debris it’s washed up. Old cars, boxes and at one point a lorry trailer block their path, forcing them back onto the road where they’re exposed. There’s also a stretch of thick mud that grips their boots and smells worse than the dead, and it slows them down long enough for dusk to begin to grasp the sky.

“ _Fuck_!” Rex hoarse-yells when his boot is claimed by the mud.

Cody wades over to him and helps to support him while Rex fishes it out with a face akin to an irate rancor. Obi-Wan has the good grace not to laugh. Not while they’re inviting him back to their base, anyway.

The sound of voices persistently dog them the whole way back and on more than one occasion they freeze in their tracks and drop to the ground. Being hunted is nothing new for Obi-Wan; even before this all started he’d done his fair share of missions gone awry, ending in chases through tundra and deserts and even cities. But he’d thought he was past all that and now it’s as if history is repeating itself. He _hates_ it. There was a _reason_ he got out.

By the time they finally reach the bridge, the sun is beginning to set and it seems as if the raiders have finally given up. They’re all tired, drawn faces elongated by the last rays of the day, and they pause underneath the bridge. Obi-Wan slumps against the wall, sliding down onto the damp concrete with an exhaustion he shouldn’t have. But he hasn’t eaten in days now, wanting to preserve what they do have for Anakin and Ahsoka, and will power can go a long way, but that’s still only so far.

Now that he thinks about it, his entire body hurts too. Particularly his shoulder, where the thing had dropped him to the floor. He reckons it isn’t dislocated or broken, just heavily bruised – it’s not like he can _afford_ for it to be anything else. For a second he allows his eyes to close and the cold of the stone to seep into his aching joints. There’s a grating sound a few feet away and the brothers keep whispering to each other, so he figures it isn’t a threat.

“Get up, Old Man,” Cody says, gently kicking his boot. “Time to go.”

He opens his eyes with a start to see Rex disappearing down a manhole. Cody follows after him as Obi-Wan gets to his feet. He looks around for a moment in confusion, at the orange on the water from the sun and the distant smoke trail from the town hall across the river, at the fox darting across the street and the water dripping from the arch of the bridge, debating every life choice he’s ever made that’s led him to here.

Then he descends the ladder into what he hopes is relatively safety.

He’s met by Jango and it only occurs to him now, for the first time, that a member of the Fett clan never comes alone. They come together, like a pack. Like a _family_.

Inexplicably, it looks like his evening just got worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The galaxy dictates family reunions have to have a certain degree of awkwardness

The awkward silence stretches on. Jango continues to stare at him appraisingly, refusing to break eye contact. Obi-Wan does too. It’s not like it’s the first time this has happened. Anyone dating one of Jango’s own had been subjected to it and once upon a time Jango had even _approved_ of Obi-Wan because he hadn’t backed down. That was before he fucked up though. Now he has no chance of earning any kind of favour.

“Rex,” Jango says with a devastating calm, “pull the cover back over.”

Rex sidesteps the both of them to climb the ladder and do just that, while Obi-Wan continues to _not_ _blink_. There’s the sound of scraping metal and then the tiny corridor is enveloped in a musty darkness. Light from the end of the corridor shines their way, casting onto Obi-Wan, but shrouding Jango and his eyes in darkness. He keeps staring anyway.

“I have two questions,” Jango says, “and I need someone to answer them.”

Rex jumps the last rung of the ladder and pushes past them both to stand by a tense looking Cody.

“Have you been bitten?”

“No,” Obi-Wan says just as calmly. Once he might have added a _Sir_ out of respect, but now that would simply be insulting.

“Good. I don’t want to have to shoot anyone in the place I’m currently living.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t react. Far worse threats have been flung his way over the year. This one is practically merciful in comparison.

“What are you doing here?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything, because it’s a very good question that he doesn’t have an answer to. By all rights, he should still be hunkered down in a house somewhere, praying he isn’t found, or attempting to work his way back to Anakin and Ahsoka. He shouldn’t be with Cody and his family, he lost that right a long time ago and they all know it.

“I invited him,” Cody tells his father, quietly.

Jango spins round, eye to eye with his oldest. “You did _what_?”

Obi-Wan can understand his incredulity – hell, he feels the same way on Cody’s behalf. His presence here isn’t a good idea for _anyone_. Rex is being weirdly friendly, but Jango’s reaction is more in line with his expectations. He doesn’t know what their breakup was like from the Fett side of things, but the way they always stick together, he can’t imagine anyone sympathised with him. And after what he did, he doesn’t blame them.

“After everything you went through?”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and tries not to gag on the bile forcing its way up the back of his throat. He knows he hurt Cody, it weighs on his soul every day and he certainly doesn’t need a visual reminder of the pain he’s caused. It doesn’t even matter that it was never his intention, because the result was the same anyway. They’re not Obi-Wan and Cody anymore.

He’s _still_ learning to live with that.

“We ran into some trouble on the high street,” Cody says, carefully. _Emotionlessly_. “Some clankers caught our tail early on and we spent most of the day trying to shake them. Then we heard a fight inside one of the stores and found Obi-Wan with a Risen he’d killed. The clankers showed up not long after and we didn’t have much choice but to run.”

It’s a pragmatic view of the day’s events if nothing else, but then Obi-Wan doesn’t know what else he expected. Cody lives for rules and regulations and concise reports, much as Obi-Wan once did. He wonders slightly idly, if he’s found any of that in the madness outside.

“So you brough him _here_.” Jango repeats and the implication is clear. They should have left him where he stood.

“He has food,” Rex offers, “and we don’t.” He wrinkles his nose. “Ration bars don’t count.”

_That_ catches Jango’s attention and for the first time, Obi-Wan is acutely aware he’s in hostile territory with very limited means of protecting himself.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few cans,” he offers.

It’s not that he’s unwilling to share, more that he needs to get _something_ back to Ahsoka and Anakin. Force, he hopes they’re not worried about him. They will certainly have expected him back by now, but he doubts they’ll really go looking for him until first light. Which means he has to survive the night so he can intercept their attempts in the morning.

The rolling in his stomach is an uncomfortable reminder that he is _once again_ causing those closest to him pain.

“Maybe we should talk about this inside, given none of us are going anywhere,” Cody says, somewhat forcefully.

Jango gives Obi-Wan another up and down before showing his back and brushing past his sons into the room beyond. Cody follows his father and Rex gives him a small commiserating smile before doing the same. Obi-Wan takes a second to take a deep breath to calm himself, running his fingers through his hair to stop them taking comfort from the hilt of his knife. Even given the state of the world, it’s been a while since he felt so exposed. Usually, he’s a least _slightly_ in control of the situation.

Inside turns out to be a platform of concrete a few metres above an open waterway that he has a suspicion might be a sewer. The space is large enough for everyone inside to comfortably move around. There’s an ancient flickering light above a metal ladder down to the water, and he guesses this must have been for maintenance of some kind once upon a time. There’s no smell and the water runs clean, but then it’s not as if people use the waterworks anymore.

It’s a good job the platform is large because with the addition of Obi-Wan, there’s many people gathered around the small fire burning away in the centre. He sees faces he hasn’t seen in years, and suddenly he wants to hide away from their gaze. They don’t see him at first because Jango blocks him from their view but then he steps aside and he can see the shock and confusion as it flashes across familiar faces. _Of_ _course_ they all stuck together. That’s what families _do_.

“It seems we have a guest,” Jango introduces him.

“ _Obi-Wan_?” Fives asks, unbelieving.

He gives a small nod of greeting and a tight smile. This was not how he pictured seeing the Fetts again. Not that he was ever _expecting_ to see any of them again. But then there’s a general rule his life seems to follow; it seems the galaxy really can’t allow him peace, not when it could kark him over instead. He _expects_ the worst and usually isn’t far off.

Kix, the third oldest of the Fett brothers, is sat closest to him. Fives and Echo, the twins – Echo is seventeen and a half minutes older, and won’t let anyone forget it – are seated to the left of Kix, the water to their backs. Boba is the youngest, and even though he now must be thirteen, will always be the baby of the family. Kriff, that makes Obi-Wan feel old; Boba really had been just a baby last time he’d seen him _five years ago_. A whole _lifetime_ ago. He’s sat at the far end of the platform in the shadows, poking the fire with a stick, but even from here Obi-Wan can tell he’s lost his baby fat. He’s probably _had_ to. Next to Boba is someone Obi-Wan can’t see, cloaked by a shawl they’ve wrapped tightly around themselves.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” It’s nice to see some things never change; Boba still lacks a filter.

Cody sighs and takes a seat on the floor next to the person he doesn’t know, taking the stick from Boba.

“It’s just for the night,” Obi-Wan promises. His voice sounds slightly raw, far from the confidence he wishes he could muster. It’s been a _really_ long day.

Rex, as ever, takes his place next to Cody. When they’d first met, Obi-Wan hadn’t believed them when they’d told him they weren’t twins, but had an entire year between them. Rex raises an eyebrow and looks at the ground next to him. It’s as much of an invitation as he’s going to get, so he takes it.

It’s not escaped his notice that Rex has taken it upon himself to keep him from Cody and he has absolutely no doubt that is solely to protect his brother. Stop him having to reignite old pain. The two _always_ have each other’s backs. He’s even grateful Cody doesn’t have to face anything alone, that there’s people there for him.

He never meant to hurt him like he did.

“You look like shit,” Boba mutters at him from across the fire.

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan replies.

He looks down at himself. His shirt and trousers are coated in dried blood and mud, and his sleeve is irreparably torn. He doesn’t even know when that happened.

“We’ve been washing in the water,” Rex tells him. “Don’t worry, it’s clean,” he adds at the look on Obi-Wan’s face, because it’s still a sewer.

And, yeah, maybe he _should_ wash before he meets up with Anakin and Ahsoka. It’ll only worry them more if he doesn’t.

“We can put food on while you wash,” Jango says pointedly.

Obi-Wan hesitates, his bag in front of him.

“Don’t worry, we won’t take everything.”

Boba scoffs.

He nods and unzips his bag, taking out three cans of beans, two chickpeas and a peaches before zipping is shut again.

“ _Peaches_?” Five shouts, leaning over Kix to grab the can. “I haven’t had these in ages.”

“Get orf-” Kix pushes his brother away.

“They’re to share,” Jango says gruffly, and Obi-Wan might be imagining it, but he sounds slightly less hostile than before.

Echo produces a brace of pans from their pile of things against the far wall and Obi-Wan decides to leave them to it, untucking his knife from the back of his trousers and leaving it on his bag before making his way to the ladder. He debates whether or not to strip, but decides stripping in front of his ex’s family may not be the best of decisions and he should probably wash his clothes anyway. _And_ he isn’t prepared to go bare foot in an old sewer. He has _some_ standards left.

“Here.”

He looks up to see Kix offering him a bar of soap.

“Ah, thank you but I can’t.”

“Why, you got some aversion to being clean?”

“Soap isn’t exactly readily available nowadays,” he protests, “I couldn’t.”

Kix shrugs. “Food for soap, the way I see it, that’s a fair swap.”

Obi-Wan hesitates. He _shouldn’t_ , he’s already cost this family enough, but it would be nice to be properly clean just once.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the offering and slipping it in his breast pocket.

Kix nods and returns to the fire. Obi-Wan tries to pretend he can’t feel Cody’s eyes on him, instead testing his weight on the ladder. It seems to hold, and he climbs down it carefully. He has to remind himself that the dead can’t breathe underwater (he knows exactly how ridiculous _that_ sounds) before he can convince himself to put his foot in the water. It’s running fairly quickly but only comes up to his waist when he’s fully immersed, so he’s unlikely to be swept away.

It’s minorly unnerving to have not one but _two_ tunnels lost to the darkness, one before him and one behind. The water runs from one to the other without a care in the world, and Obi-Wan tries to convince himself he’s of the same mind. Still, the primal part of his mind (and the logical part, honed over many, many missions and years of experience) screams that he’s too exposed and unarmed.

He ducks his head under the water, mouth firmly closed, to distract himself. The water is as clean as he could reasonably hope for, but he still suspects its’ source is the river they followed. Even without the pollution of barges and ferries, bacteria and other contaminants must still be rife. He sets about scrubbing as much of the blood out of his shirt as he can before taking it off and slinging it over one of the ladder rungs, retrieving the soap to wash himself.

When he emerges back at the top of the ladder, people have started talking again and the smell of food hangs in the air. He hands the soap back to Kix and wrings out his shirt to drape it over the top of the ladder.

“We don’t have any towels I’m afraid,” Kix tells him.

Obi-Wan shrugs, still not over the fact they have _soap_. “I can’t exactly complain.”

“Anyone got a spare shirt?” Kix calls over to the fire.

Cody sighs. “I’ll get one.”

Rex’s expression is slightly pinched, but he doesn’t challenge his brother.

“It’s fine,” Obi-Wan says quickly. They’re not _there_ anymore and with the heat of the fire his shirt should dry soon anyway.

“We don’t all want to look at your ugly… _muscles_?” Fives tries for a joke but it falls flat when he turns around and decides to choke. “Kriffing hells, Cody. You never said he was _ripped_.”

Obi-Wan turns back around to busy himself with emptying the water from his boots to hide the way he flushes. It’s less a case of him being _ripped_ and more a case of having very little body fat left. He’s never been exactly embarrassed by his body, but he’s aware that he has certain deformities that are considered to be undesirable.

“Or scarred,” Echo adds.

_Thanks Echo_ , he thinks dryly.

“Hazards of the occupation, I believe,” a voice says and it takes Obi-Wan a moment to realise it’s the figure wrapped tightly in their shawl.

Cody holds out a grey t-shirt to Obi-Wan, not looking him in the eye, instead preferring to address their unknown companion. “Hardly. No-one else came back from missions in the same state, nor avoided medics with quite the same vigour. He had a reputation for attracting trouble for a reason, and it’s largely because no-one else had the same problem.”

“Yes, well, most of the time that wasn’t exactly my fault,” he says, feeling the need to defend himself.

“An interesting take no-one else agreed with,” Cody says and turns to sit down again.

Obi-Wan doesn’t reply, instead pulling the shirt over his head, trying very hard not to focus on the fact it _smells_ like Cody. Like home used to. He doesn’t want to argue, not now.

“Forgive me,” he says instead to the woman, “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

Jango goes to speak but she – and it’s definitely a woman’s voice – holds up a hand to stop him. “It’s fine, we’re old friends. I have nothing to fear from him.”

That’s news to him, but then maybe her accent is slightly familiar. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind it rings a bell. She draws back her shawl and then he _does_ recognise her. It had been one hell of a mission, his last as a commander, before he was promoted. Between rescuing the queen of a sovereign state and fighting their way through a blockade to get the party to safety and then _back_ again to fight in a war for the countries’ freedom, he’d find it hard to forget.

“Surely you remember Sabé,” she says.

That draws him short. He knows this woman and he knows Sabé, but they are not one and the same. The pointed way she says it though, and the odd way she refers to herself in the third person…

“Of course,” he replies, “how could I forget?”

She smiles at him gratefully and he fully intends to find out exactly why she’s hiding her identity, but won’t press now. Not in company.

“You know each other?” Jango asks surprised.

“An old mission.”

“He was of much assistance to my mistress during the troubles.”

He replies at the same time as _Sab_ _é_.

“Oh?” Jango raises an eyebrow. “Looks like it’s a small world after all.”

Obi-Wan privately agrees and can’t help but think the galaxy might be plotting something. Somehow, they’ve ended up in the same damp concrete bunker after the end of the world, despite being from three different countries. He doesn’t believe in luck, and it feels slightly like some living force of the galaxy has orchestrated this moment.

“Well you’ve got to tell us _now_ ,” Fives says.

That sounds like a terrible idea. He hates recounting missions, no matter how far in the past they’d been. There are some memories he’d wish would stay buried. And as lovely Padmé is, his time spent fighting for her people hadn’t been. It’s bizarre she’s here now, and a very small selfish part of him wishes the galaxy would give him a five minute break between curve balls.

“I’m sure the Lady would tell it far better than I ever could,” he deflects and Fives’ eager face turns to Padmé.

He takes his seat besides Rex and takes off his boots to dry them closer to the fire, doing his best to ignore Padmé’s retelling. The two pans make their way around the circle and he takes a couple of spoonful’s of each when they reach him. Plain chickpeas taste odd and slightly hard, though he thinks Echo has tried his best because at least he’s added some salt. The beans are better and he savours the taste of something that isn’t Anakin’s dreadful cooking, honest-to-god bugs or the odd chargrilled rat.

Rex elbows him and he looks up.

“Isn’t that right Obi-Wan?” Padmé asks.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m afraid I drifted.”

Padmé raises an eyebrow at him. Behind her, Cody has an odd look on his face that he can’t decipher.

“I said, you fought the assassin in the generator room beneath the palace. Nobody really knows what happened down there besides you. It would be unfair of me to tell it.”

He should be past wanting to scream, but it seems it’s one of those days. He can feel the corners of his mouth going tight as he does his best not to grimace. What happened down there should _stay_ down there. “Anyone who read the report also knows.”

It hadn’t just been him down there, not initially. His commanding officer had been there too. Obi-Wan had held him in his arms as he bled out from the wounds inflicted by the assassin. It had been among the worst moments of his life, and that _is_ saying something. There was a reason he’d been promoted shortly after – to fill a gap.

Everyone looks at him expectantly and he wants to throw up.

There’s the sound of a pan being placed angrily onto the concrete.

“He doesn’t have to tell us if he doesn’t want to,” Cody says, staring at the empty pan.

Obi-Wan looks at him and when their eyes meet briefly, he gives a small nod of thanks. Cody knows what happened. He even _understands_. They’d always understood each other, right up until the end. That’s why they’d worked so well together.

There’s a sudden awkward silence. Obi-Wan rakes his fingers through his damp hair.

“I’ll open the peaches,” Fives mutters.

Apparently even Jango doesn’t know what to say. Which makes the silence _Obi-Wan’s_ fault.

“What are you doing here?” he asks Padmé tiredly, but not unkindly. Anything to change the subject. “I’d have thought you’d want to spend the apocalypse back in Naboo. I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.”

“A diplomatic mission gone wrong,” she says sadly, “you know the story.”

“He was rather good at getting diplomatic missions to go wrong,” Cody mutters.

He tries not to frown. That’s not strictly fair.

“Senator Amidala was supposed to give a speech in the Senate before all this madness. When the air routes were closed, we couldn’t fly home and we’ve been here ever since.”

That does make sense, he concedes, and he mourns the family and life they can’t return to on their behalf. He sort of knows how it feels to be separated from family against one’s will. Only he had brought it upon himself and not separated by the apocalypse.

“Where is the Senator?” he asks.

Obviously, he knows where the senator really is, but if she’s going through the charade of pretending to be one of her aides then presumably they’ve swapped places. It wouldn’t be the first time and he wants to know where the real Sabé is. They’d got on _well_ , in their brief time together.

It’s Padmé’s turn to smile tightly. “I’m afraid that’s rather a long story and the reason I’m with these good people.”

“Please do tell.”

Padmé looks to Jango, which in itself is odd because he’s never seen her look to anyone else for permission before. But it seems they have an understanding because he nods and she turns back to him.

“The senator and some of her aides, myself included, were being housed in the town hall for the duration of the emergency. When the town hall was attacked, we were captured. I alone was set free in order to find a reward worthy of a senator’s ransom.”

Obi-Wan thinks he understands a bit more now. If they were all captured, then they wouldn’t have willingly let Padmé go. She’d be considered the most valuable prisoner, though to who left in this wasteland it’s unclear. But being Padmé, of course she’d want to be the one to secure the freedom of her people personally, she’d never lay that responsibility at anyone else’s feet. And she’d never leave her people behind.

“Did you find it?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “But I did find some people who are willing to help.”

The Fett brothers all nod with varying degrees of enthusiasm. It seems he’s not the only pathetic life form they’ve helped. Obi-Wan looks towards Cody who’s unusually silent about the matter. It’s Jango who answers his unspoken question though.

“We’ve been running from town to town in search of somewhere safe since the beginning, and we’ve yet to find it. It’s starting to look like we’re going to have to make it instead. With the clankers out of the way, this place would be about as safe as anywhere possibly could be.”

“It also helps they have all of the food stashed in the town hall,” Rex says. “We wouldn’t have to worry for years.”

Which does explain quite a lot actually. Why everything is so systematically empty.

Padmé suddenly looks at him with interest. “This is right up your line of expertise isn’t it, Obi-Wan?”

Oh, no. He can see where this is going. _Definitely not_. He doesn’t do that anymore, he _got out_.

“What exactly is your line of expertise?” Echo asks curiously.

“English lit,” he says obtusely.

Being an academic, teaching – that had been his favourite job of all. He misses it with a genuine ache. There had been no threat of death, just heated discussions over tea. Even if students didn’t prep for seminars and the canteen food had been nigh on toxic, he’d been happy. Teaching and learning, that’s what he was supposed to do, not kill. It’s always haunted him that he was good at being a solider, and he’s always hoped he made a better teacher.

Not that any of it really matters anymore. Being a soldier is more useful now than a stuffy old English professor. And doesn’t he _hate_ that.

“He was special forces, like me and Rex,” Cody corrects, and he _knows_ that hurts Obi-Wan.

They’d both been special forces, only in different armies. It had been on a joint nations mission when they’d met, in the red dust bowl of the Geonosian desert. They’d both almost died that day, Obi-Wan first in the arena and later Cody from an exploding mortar in the battle that followed. They’d _saved_ each other. People used to think that was romantic.

How can everything have changed so much since then?

“I know he was special forces,” Echo scowls. “But what did that involve exactly?”

Obi-Wan doubts they could have given him an actual job description. At the time, it had seemed like even if it were as long as _War and Peace_ it still couldn’t encompass everything he’d had to do.

“Whatever is needed, wherever and whenever it needs doing,” Rex says in a stuffy accent that makes Cody snort. Clearly, he’s not in on the joke.

“You could help,” Padmé pushes. “We need you.”

“Oh, that’s a terrible idea,” Fives says.

Obi-Wan wonders if the lack of filter is a Fett thing.

“Why?” she asks confused. “You all know each other, right?”

“Erm...” Fives seems to realise he might have overstepped social bounds and looks around slightly desperately for help. Everyone remains studiously silent. Cody picks up the stick again to poke the fire. Obi-Wan prays to the galaxy for one small favour.

Unfortunately, Boba comes to his brother’s aid.

“You want to keep Cody’s ex around? That might get awkward.” Boba says, before looking thoughtful and adding, “even _more_ awkward.”

Just one favour. Just for the ground to swallow him whole.

“Cody’s _ex_?” Padmé asks, incredulous. She tries to make eye contact with him, but he studiously looks at his drying boots.

“Yeah, he royally kriffed Cody over. The break-up was messy, there was crying, lots of swearing and an incredible number of threats. Wolffe even called up to tell Cody he owed him a _favour_.” Boba looks at him somewhat maliciously. “And we all know what a favour from Wolffe is worth.”

He hadn’t known that – how could he? And Boba is blatantly enjoying torturing him with the idea that family sticks together. It’s somehow worse because it _works_. He balls his fists very tightly into his wet trousers and continues to stare at his boots.

There’s no point in apologising again now. They’ve been there before, and if anything it had made things worse. There’s nothing left to say between them. That’s why it had ended, after all.

“Boba,” Jango says warningly.

“Wolffe’s our cousin,” Boba continues. “ _And_ our Ba’buir even offered to fly over from Mandalore to offer her support. When the matriarch of a clan offers to get involved you know it’s bad-”

Cody gets abruptly to his feet and stalks round the edge of the circle and out into the corridor.

“Boba,” Jango growls.

Boba goes slightly pale. He does look sorry, though more down to Cody’s reaction than Obi-Wan’s.

“Nice one kid,” Rex says and goes after his brother.

“I’m just saying the truth,” Boba mutters.

Obi-Wan can feel everyone’s eyes on him. Sometimes he wonders how bad it would have been if he hadn’t woken up after the IED got him. He wouldn’t have been able to continue to hurt people that way. It seems like he can’t stop doing that at the moment. If Anakin and Ahsoka weren’t relying on him… well, he’s not sure what he’d do.

And it’s not like he hasn’t been here before.

When he looks around the circle he makes inadvertent eye contact with Jango.

“I’ll be out of your hair before first light,” he promises quietly.

The luminous hands of his watch tell him he has seven hours before then.

Jango lets out a long-suffering sigh and nods once. If Obi-Wan didn’t know better he’d say Jango looked tired.

“We should all get some sleep,” Jango says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was mostly dialogue I'm afraid, but I wanted to establish the dynamic a bit. The next chapter is already written, it just needs reviewing, and has more action in it.
> 
> Comments and Kudos appreciated x


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting up with Anakin and Ahsoka wasn't ever going to be straight forward now, was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was supposed to be set on Earth and I started using real(ish) places and then it got a bit confusing, so I changed them to the places from canon. The result is that it's set in an Earth-like place and all of the canon-planets are now countries. None of the characters have any Force-given powers, or anything like that, though they might curse the Force or the galaxy in the same way we shake sticks at the sky.

He doesn’t sleep much. Instead he’s mocked by the sounds of everyone else drifting off, unnecessarily on edge thanks to the unfamiliar shuffling and quietening breaths of people who are neither Anakin nor Ahsoka. At some point he hears Rex and Cody come in and take sentinel by the fire, but doesn’t dare open his eyes to look. They talk about inane nothings and as much as he hates himself for it, he can’t help but listen. Despite everything, it’s comforting to hear familiar voices. He’s missed it. Missed _them_.

Missed Cody.

He can’t even complain about being lonely; there’s a reason he moved in with Anakin after everything was over. They’ve kept each other alive these past years, and even managed to raise Ahsoka together. The face that it’s Obi-Wan’s name on her adoption certificate is only circumstantial, and it’s not like semantics matter in an apocalypse anyway.

He an Anakin had never actually lived together outside of the home until after the break-up. When Obi-Wan had aged out he’d gone straight into university via the army, determined to make his own way, his own mistakes. He’d been just as determined to stop Anakin from making those same mistakes, and he’d saved enough to put his brother through university without him having to enlist. Of course, by the time Anakin aged out, he and Ahsoka had already decided they were family and Anakin had flatly refused to leave her behind.

Obi-Wan would have adopted her there and then, and not just on his brother’s behalf, had he not faced the constant risk of a no-notice deployment. It hadn’t been until he’d finally left the army, five years later, just after everything with Cody when the world had gone to shit, that he’d been able to adopt her.

He’d bought a flat closer to Anakin’s university and Anakin had moved in from dorms with him and Ahsoka. He’d even managed to finish his PhD and put it to good use as a lecturer. Despite everything, for a while at least, he’d learnt to be happy again. Even if he mourned the loss of his old life and his mistakes, there had still been things worth living for.

And then the world had gone to shit a second time.

The rest would be history, if there were enough people left to write it down.

He must drift off at some point, because he wakes just over an hour before dawn. If anything, he’s even more tired than before and the cold of the concrete has seeped into his bones and made his joints stiff. Still, he’s glad to see he’s not lost the ability to sleep anywhere, even in his old age. His clothes have even mostly dried, though the air is cold now the fire has burnt low and goose bumps cover his bare arms.

At some point in the night, Jango must have taken over as sentry because Obi-Wan can see his silhouette propped against the entrance to the corridor, the far too familiar outline of a rifle by his side. He watches as Obi-Wan quietly collects his things, stepping carefully around sleeping bodies to retrieve his shirt and boots.

Obi-Wan has to tell the small part of himself that wants to keep Cody’s t-shirt he’s being pathetically sentimental. He folds it carefully and leaves it atop one of the packs against the far wall. His boots are still slightly wet, but there’s not much he can do about that. When he slings the pack over his shoulder, he winces at the weight on his battered shoulder.

He doesn’t look back to where Cody is sleeping in the corner.

Jango wordlessly stands as Obi-Wan approaches and leads him out into the corridor.

“You’re off then?”

Obi-Wan nods. “As promised.”

He goes to move out of Obi-Wan’s way, then hesitates.

“What’s your plan now?”

It almost sounds like he cares. Almost.

“Meeting up, then we’re going to get out of town.” He wants to add _don’t worry, you’ll never see me again_ , but in current circumstances that sounds far too much like tempting fate. “We should have enough food to do that now.” And begin the whole viscous cycle – hunting for food in order to be able to leave – over again.

“Good,” Jango says, firmly. “ _Good_.”

He’s known Jango for just over a decade, which is long enough to be suspicious of the fact it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

Jango does stand aside then, and Obi-Wan makes his way up the ladder. He struggles a moment to lift the manhole cover quietly, but eventually it moves enough for him to climb out. Outside the air is cold and crisp and he shivers. Oranges and pinks bleed over the edge of the horizon on the opposite bank. He crouches to shove the cover back in place and sling the other strap of his bag over his shoulder to distribute the weight, rolling his shoulders in discomfort.

His own camp should be further downstream, if he’s not completely lost his bearings. It’s not actually by the river, but it is on the outskirts of the south side of town so if he follows its’ course until the town ends, he should be able to then make his way around the edge of the town to where he needs to be.

He gives himself a second to look down at the where the bunker is, picturing everyone he’s leaving behind. Again. Then he shoves the rolling guilt as far down as he can and takes off at a light jog, passing under the bridge and onto the silty sand of the riverbank. At this time in the morning, the raiders don’t seem to be very active and he needs speed over stealth if he’s going to make it back to camp before Anakin and Ahsoka leave.

Eventually the bank becomes too steep to continue down and he’s forced back up onto the road. He hugs the buildings then, using the darkness and early morning shadows to his advantage. The clanking of cans is putting him on edge, but there’s very little he can do about that. He’s more worried about the dead hearing him than the raiders, but the town is suspiciously quiet, and the idea of a _ghost town_ suddenly seems very apt.

He wonders how many others there are hidden in the forgotten corners of buildings and old maintenance shafts. There had been no prior indication of the Fett’s presence nor the Naboo entourage. The raiders are the only ones to make themselves known, the only ones to establish dominance in this backwater town in the middle of nowhere. Obi-Wan doesn’t even know its _name_ and the chances of him dying here are distressingly high.

Oddly, the deserted streets remind him of when the world was still largely sane. On nights when sleep was elusive or broken by his dreams, he’d go for a run before the city woke and it’d seem like he was the only one around for miles. Admittedly, that had been most nights, particularly after Cody, but it had still brought him a sense of peace, knowing that there was still quiet and calm left somewhere in the world.

Not that this morning can be described as _calm_ exactly, with so much trepidation hanging in the air.

By the time he reaches the edge of town, the sun is distressingly close to breaking past the horizon. He leaves the river behind and makes his way through the fields and farmhouses, running through stalks of over-ripe wheat and desiccated marrows. They cast long shadows in the early morning light, and it’s almost _eerie_. Like they’re spectres of the past. This place has been long since abandoned by proper civilisation, and all that remains are the spoiled reminders of a life long gone. Somehow, he has enough energy left to mourn that, even if living in the past _is_ dangerous.

All of his melancholy thoughts are banished when he reaches their farmhouse. White hot anticipation flashes into existence in its’ place and adrenaline drowns out the panic that tries to claw at his throat. His knife is in his hand reflexively and for the very first time in a long time he really _does_ want his rifle back. Not for himself – _never_ for himself – but to protect his family.

If it isn’t too late.

The old wooden door they’d barred shut after he’d left has been splintered open by blunt trauma and the sight of it makes his heart clench in fear for what he’ll find. The earth around the door has been trampled by many feet and the plant pot by the door kicked carelessly aside. Imprints of tire tracks have been left in the dust and lead off down the driveway. One of the windows has been smashed too, the shards of glass littering the ground by his feet. Which means it was broken from the _inside_.

Anakin and Ahsoka were trying to get out.

He nudges the door open with his boot and it squeals on its hinges, causing him to pause for a moment. There’s no response and he continues inside, fuelled by the rush he’s always associated with missions.

Force, it’s exactly like he’s _back_.

The living room and bathroom are both clear, but there’s a streak of blood on the wall at the end of the hall. It’s brown and dry and he’s worried by how old it looks. _He shouldn’t have left them alone._

The kitchen is where the damage really is. The table has been kicked on its side to make improvised cover. _Bullet holes_ puncture its’ surface and it’s missing a leg. He looks behind it, but there aren’t any bodies there, just a small pool of blood. Which could mean _anything_ in his experience.

A breeze blows in through the smashed window and he looks over to see a body slumped beneath, the bloody table leg not far away. It’s not Anakin or Ahsoka, but the worry doesn’t uncurl in his chest. Clearly, it’s a head injury that’s got the raider and if he’d have to place bets, he’d say it was courtesy of Anakin. Bloody foot tracks mark the floor, the remnants of a struggle between two or three people. They continue back out into the hall.

He kneels by the body and feels arbitrarily for a pulse in their neck. There isn’t one and the body is stiff and cold. It’s the closest he’s been to a raider and he’s surprised by the disgust he feels. It’s been a long time since the dead phased him – even long before they started coming back to life – but he’s never felt _disgust_ before. Horror and then a subdued indifference borne form necessity (that’s what he tells others anyway, but the horror doesn’t ever really go, not when he’s the one responsible for the death of his men _and_ their targets). Now, though, he feels disgust for the lifeform who’s made the choices that led them here, because it’s the element of _choice_ that makes all the difference. It’s a luxury the dead don’t currently have.

Without the raider’s signature respirator he can see the man’s face and thinks they should look less human than they do; they shouldn’t look so _normal_ , like everyone else. Beaten, battered, _surviving_.

The body has been stripped of anything useful long before he arrived and left for…what exactly? The animals? A warning for him specifically? He doubts the raiders even care. If they were willing to leave their own dead without a burial or pyre then it doesn’t say much for their value of life or loyalty. At least, he thinks bitterly, someone has put a bullet between his eyes to stop him from coming back. He can tell it was done post-mortem because of the carbon scoring where someone held their weapon pressed up against the body without hindrance.

He stands up and looks away.

Something in the grate of the fireplace catches his eye where it reflects the light. A lump forms in his throat. It’s one of the silka bead braids Ahsoka wears in her hair. He picks it up and brushes off the soot, running it through his fingers.

 _He’s failed them_.

Oh, so carefully, he tucks it into his pocket for safekeeping. It’s left a little trail in the soot and when he crouches down to get a better look he sees something has been drawn into the dust, just under the grate, mostly hidden from view.

_Est baraks_

Evidently, it’s been hastily written and is barely legible, but he’s proof-read enough of Ahsoka’s essays to be fairly certain it’s her writing. It’s the same way she usually scrawls her conclusions in her hurry to finish.

He also has no idea what it means.

He forces himself to stand and clear the rest of the house. The bedroom is clear too, but there’s no sign it was ever slept in. Which is to be expected. Whatever happened here, clearly happened yesterday, perhaps even before the sun set. It was all over long before he got here. While he was agonising over Cody and his family, his own family were in trouble and he wasn’t there to help them. The guilt of that _burns_ and it’s made worse because he doesn’t know what Ahsoka was trying to tell him.

Defeated, he makes his way out of the house and slumps on the front step, knife useless on the ground. He can see the fight continued to the edge of the tire tracks before all traces disappear. Clearly, they were taken away by road.

Obi-Wan’s head drops in his hands. His only solace is that there are no bodies for him to bury – they’re still alive and he can cling to that. He hasn’t failed them completely yet, not while there’s still air left in his lungs. They’re _still alive_ and captive somewhere (the raiders have gone through the effort of not killing them and the tactician within him can’t help but wonder _why_ ). He just needs to find out _where_ they’ve been taken exactly and then he can move the heavens to get them back. It’s just like a mission briefing.

Padmé’s words echo around his head.

This _is_ his line of expertise.

And the galaxy _is_ mocking him. He can never truly escape.

Because its obvious he can’t take on the might of the raiders by himself. He’s good, but he’s not _that_ good and everyone needs a team at their back they can rely on. In one of its’ more perverse twists, the galaxy has presented to him the perfect team; the Fetts are highly trained and are already planning to take on the raiders, and what’s more he knows he works with them well. It’s just a shame they all hate the audacity he expresses in continuing to breathe.

He’s going to have to swallow his pride and ask for their help. He knows they won’t say no, because despite the hard exterior they present to the world, they’re just as bad as he is with pathetic lifeforms. And he’s most definitely a pathetic lifeform. It’s going to mean hurting Cody even more (and himself, but that doesn’t really matter, he was made for infinite sadness anyway), but if he doesn’t Anakin and Ahsoka might die and he can’t possibly allow that.

It means he’s going to break his promise to Jango.

At least Padmé will be happy.

It’s a testament to how distracted he is that something creeps up on him and presses its’ wet nose against his cheek. Involuntarily he flinches, fumbling through blurry eyes for his knife, but it’s just Anakin’s dog.

“Hello, boy.” Obi-Wan drops the knife to stoke Threepio’s head. “It’s good to see you too. You made it out, huh?” The golden lab looks at him with wide eyes that beg for something he can’t give. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where they are either.”

Anakin fed Threepio once a few towns back and he’s been following them since, like that was an invitation for him too. He was clearly once a family’s pet, the stereotypically energetic Labrador, that’s somehow how survived against the odds. He’s even mostly clean and considering he probably belonged to someone who owned a picket fence and a perfectly manicured lawn, that’s a high standard to maintain. Obi-Wan hadn’t been impressed at first, but it’s hard to hate something so earnest with their love for long. Despite looking useless, he’s even managed to feed himself.

Threepio sits down and Obi-Wan notices his flank is covered in blood.

“Did you get injured?” He moves to get a closer look.

There’s a gash a few inches long just in front of his back leg. It’s open but no-longer bleeding and deep enough to be a genuine concern. If he had to guess, he’d say it’s the work of a knife.

“You tried to protect them, didn’t you?” Tried to do what Obi-Wan’s failed at.

Threepio whines and Obi-Wan runs his hair violently through his fingers, trying to think what to do for the best. He’d checked the bedroom where they’d been storing their stuff and it’s been cleared out. There’s nothing left, not even their medkit. All he has is the things on his back and whatever was left in the house the first time it was stripped. Which hadn’t exactly been much.

But there are sheets left on the bed and seeing as they won’t need them anymore, he feels little remorse when he tears it into long strips to serve as make-shift bandages. He washes Threepio’s side under the pump in the rear of the farmyard and does his best to wrap the wound closed, trying fervently to not remember doing the exact same thing back in Melida/Daan for-

He doesn’t think about it.

It’s telling that Threepio doesn’t complain, instead lying passively on his side, none of his usual energy as he lets Obi-Wan work, his tail between his legs. The result is a lattice of bandages that protect the wound from the elements but little more. There isn’t much more he can do.

By the time he’s downed the contents of his canteen, refilled it from the pump, and washed his face in the spray, the sun has climbed its’ way into the sky. Out of the shadows, the rays are even beginning to feel warm, promising another day of sweltering heat.

The inevitable has been delayed enough.

He could stay in the farmhouse until nightfall when it will be safer, but that’s a delay of precious time. It’s _inviting_ something to happen. Sitting in the epicentre of his failure is too much even for him, anyway. He’d much rather be moving, doing _something_. Even if that something is picking his way through the town back to the place he started.

“Come on, Threepio.”

Shouldering his bag, he begins to walk along the tire tracks the raiders left behind, down the driveway. Threepio follows limping behind him, determined to keep up and Obi-Wan makes a conscious effort to slow his pace when he should be _running_.

They take almost an hour to reach the outskirts of the town proper. When the farmland gives way to the small band of suburb with large detached houses and long, wild lawns, Threepio stays close to his feet instead of running ahead as they walk down the middle of the maze of roads. It’s too open here to worry about staying hidden. Far better to announce his presence if he has to, and pray that those that see him are more intimidated by it than excited.

The sound of the dry grass rustling in the wind is the only thing that disturbs the silence. It does nothing to put him at ease, though there is little that could.

The morning wears on as he manoeuvres his way back to the river, progressively more on edge with each street they get closer. The gaps between houses begin to shore up, until the semi-detached houses morph into terraced shop fronts and then he does begin to keep close to the walls. It’s a different way to his path earlier; now that it’s light he can’t follow the river without being silhouetted in one of the most raider-haunted parts of town. It also means his journey time is increases four-fold, but he isn’t about to throw out common sense in the name of his own panic. He’s not _Anakin_.

Trouble finds him as it invariably does anyway. It has the decency to wait until after what would be lunch time if he’d had an appetite. There’s even an _announcement_ of its’ arrival.

An engine backfiring and a whoop of reckless joy precede the revving of a vehicle far too close for Obi-Wan’s comfort. Threepio lets out of whine of uncertainty that he can sympathise with. He looks around wildly for cover, but the street is largely commercial and the shop fronts which line the pavement have little to offer. It seems this part of town didn’t see the brunt of the riots either; windows and doors remain intact, protected by metal shutters. There aren’t any cavities he can jump into.

There’s the distinct sound of tires squealing against tarmac as the vehicle skids too fast around a corner. They’ve got seconds at best before whichever side street they’re in converges with the more main street where Obi-Wan and Threepio stand. Obi-Wan runs over to the nearest shutter and tries to pull it up. It shrieks from rust and disuse but raises a foot or so from the ground before refusing to budge any further.

“Under here, quick.”

Threepio crawls under first and Obi-Wan throws his bag after him before dropping to the ground and rolling under. The vehicle rounds the corner seconds after he’s slammed the shutter back down, and he’s still on the floor, pushing himself as far away from the street as he can. He ends up against the cold glass of a shop door sunken into the shop itself. On his left and right outrageously dressed mannequins greet customers from the displays behind the glass.

Holes in the shutter allow light to filter in and provide a limited view of outside. Anyone looking too closely would spy him easily, and he prays that they drive on by.

The vehicle stops and he doesn’t bother to waste his breath on berating the galaxy’s indifference to his pleas.

It’s similar, if not quite the same as the one he saw parked outside the shop yesterday. Heavily modified to drive terror into the hearts of those foolish enough to remain in town, with sheets of corrugated metal welded over the doors and mesh over the windows. Obi-Wan isn’t entirely sure of the functional benefit of that, but it’s not exactly as if he’s going to _ask_. A turret has been mounted on top of the rear of the roof and the cocky stance of a raider with their signature respirator can be seen standing on the back seat, manning it through a hole in the metal.

He does his best to quiet his breathing and stay as still as possible, but it becomes moot when Threepio starts to growl lowly so that it vibrates through his whole body. Obi-Wan puts a hand on his head and slowly strokes him in an attempt to soothe away the sound.

“Everyone out!” the driver shouts.

Obi-Wan counts eleven of them, including the driver and gunner, as they jump from the back of the van and spill onto the street. Most are armed with assault rifles of varying calibre and destructive capabilities, waving them around with an insulting lack of care. Of the two that aren’t, one has a steel baseball bat Obi-Wan can’t possible imagine a reason to justify manufacturing beyond sadism and the other has something that looks worryingly like a sword.

He’s not back. He got _out_.

But he’s going to have to get back _in_ if he wants to save Anakin and Ahsoka.

Surely that’s worth losing himself for?

“Spread out, stick in pairs. There have been reports of a family group here and the Boss wants this street cleared of any low life. You know the drill. Forty-four is to be left alone, but the rest is fair game.” The driver’s voice is mutilated by his mask, but it carries far all the same.

 _Kriffing karking kark_.

The raiders split and begin to rattle shutters. Further up the street the sound of shattering glass can be heard. Mercifully, they don’t seem to be starting with his shop. Gingerly, Obi-Wan reaches up to grab the door handle. It twists but doesn’t open and it’s obvious the door is locked.

 _Kark_.

As quietly as he can, he pushes himself to his feet, trying the lock again in vain. With a feeling of _déjà vu_ , he slides his knife between the door and the frame, wincing at the scrape of metal on wood. Nobody jumps up behind him though, not even at the wrenching of the lock from its’ socket. Carefully, he lets the door swing open on aged hinges. The sound is drowned out by the destruction up and down the rest of the street.

“Come on,” he whispers.

Threepio keeps close to his feet as he creeps forwards into the shop. Ghosts of fashion-past stand to attention as he passes, mannequins wearing things even the raiders hadn’t bothered to stockpile when they went through this place. Except, it looks like maybe they _haven’t_ been here before. The layer of dust atop everything is thick and undisturbed and the set-up looks exactly as if the owners had expected business as usual the next day, only it never came. It certainly explains why the street was so pristine prior to their arrival. Perhaps their systematic looting isn’t as fool proof as it first appeared, or perhaps they simply hadn’t bothered when there’s blatantly little of interest to them here.

Or maybe it was left along for the sake of their informant down in forty-four.

It’s good to know the end of the world hasn’t changed everything and that people are still people. Or snitches as the case may be. Working with the raiders is a low even Obi-Wan can’t justify.

At the back of the shop is a set of stairs. Threepio brushes past him to lead the way, hobbling awkwardly with his weight on three legs. Obi-Wan doesn’t try to stop him, instead following in his wake. The little landing leads off into various rooms used for storage and a small bathroom. The front room is the largest, with a bay window visible between the stacks of unopened boxes.

He shuts the door. A row of colourful coat hooks have been screwed hazardously on its’ back. On one of them is a brown leather jacket about his size. It’s been well worn but cared for, with the leather faded at the elbows and around the cuffs. He hesitates. Once someone evidently loved this jacket and left it here with the intention of coming back for it.

There a whoop of destruction from the street below.

Whoever the owner of the jacket was, they’re not coming back. Either they’re dead or in a place better than here (or not, but he can hope). He unhooks it with more trepidation than it warrants. The leather is a good quality, thick without being bulky. It’ll offer more protection than his ripped shirt, especially against wayward teeth. He slips it on before he can overthink things, pleased that the sleeves are the right length and the shoulders fit.

It seems logical to pile the boxes over the door, given it opens inwards, and he gets to work. The boxes themselves aren’t particularly heavy and they won’t stop the raiders forever, but he’s run out of places to go short of trying to get onto the roof. That might make him a bit _too_ noticeable.

When the stack is wider than the door and nearly as high as the ceiling, he crouches below the bay window to try and get a better look at what’s happening. The gunner has remained with the van and is taking the time to smoke, his back to Obi-Wan. He can’t see anyone else, though he can hear them. Broken glass litters the road now, and it looks like a chair has been thrown out of the upstairs window of a shop opposite.

Further down to his right he can see the sun shining off the river. The bridge the Fett’s are camped under is even visible, and it stings a little how close he is.

But how far.

He runs his hand through his hair absentmindedly. It wasn’t a tick he used to have on missions; he’d been wearing a helmet and the rest of his combat gear then. Usually, anyway, to appease his second who had despaired at his tendency to discard the more cumbersome bits of gear at will. What he wouldn’t do for half of that stuff now.

Below, there’s the sound of the shutter being drawn up. The muffled voices carry up the stairs.

“Someone’s been here recently, look at the footprints.”

“Door was open too.”

He closes his eyes. There wasn’t anything he could have done to disguise that.

“Come on,” he whispers to Threepio, coaxing him into a corner behind a stack of boxes.

He draws them closer, as best as he can, concealing their presence from the doorway, hoping that they give the room nothing more than a cursory glance, if that.

Feet stamp their way upstairs and he makes sure his breath is even and quiet. Threepio lays still, wrapped around his feet. He doesn’t bother to pray, it doesn’t seem to have helped so far. Instead he turns his knife over in his fingers and waits.

Someone tries the door, giving it a shove when it doesn’t open.

“It’s stuck,” someone rasps through their respirator.

“Use your shoulder,” their companion snaps, “stop wasting time.”

The door withstands the first assault, but not the second and the tower of boxes partially collapses. Some of the boxes get wedged behind the door and it only opens a little, but it’s enough for the raider to force their way in.

Obi-Wan stays very still.

Through a gap he can see two people enter the room; the man holding the steel bat and a woman with an assault rifle slung across her front. The man takes delight from poking the stacks of boxes over with his bat, cackling like a child. A very large, scary child.

“This is a waste of time,” the woman mutters as she eyes the room. “Why we ever listen to Slick is beyond me.”

“He’s useful, on occasion,” the man grunts. “Got us those drifters back over near Eastside. And if he thinks he’s seen a family operating from here, I trust him. It’d be his neck on the line if he were wrong.”

“He just said he’d seen a pair of brothers walking round, not that they were _here_.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach sinks lower with each word.

“Well, we’ve gotta be seen to be doing something.”

The woman grins. “What, like _this_?” She brings the rifle up to her shoulder and opens fire on the bay window. The glass shatters, some of it rebounding around the room and Obi-Wan tucks his head against his chest to protect himself from the worst. Most of it rains down on the street below.

He tries not to wince at the waste of ammo.

“Maybe,” the man says, peering out. “I think you might have got someone.”

“Like the bastard doesn’t deserve it.” There’s angry shouting from the street and she sighs. “That’d be our que. Come on, let’s go.”

She’s walks out of the room without looking back, glass crunching under her boots. The second raider goes to follow her but stops and looks back around the room.

“If you don’t hurry up, you’re going to have to walk back,” she calls from downstairs. “ _Again_.”

Her footsteps can be heard retreating back onto the street below, but still the man doesn’t move. Obi-Wan doesn’t know what aroused his suspicion, but he begins to poke the boxes with more purpose and it’s becoming apparent his intention is to be methodical. _Kriff_.

As noiselessly as he can, he slips the backpack from his shoulders for a better range of movement and leans onto the balls of his feet, ready to spring if necessary. Threepio seems to sense his tension and stands on his feet as best he can injured and cramped into the small space.

It becomes increasing more obvious it’s only a matter of moments until he’s found. The man is working his way along the back wall where Obi-Wan is hidden, sending boxes cascading across the floor, carelessly destroying all cover.

He sizes up his opponent. All he can see beneath the respirator is buzzed short black hair, everything else is hidden from view behind the round bug-like eye pieces and snout of the filter. Obi-Wan hasn’t yet managed to fathom _why_ they wear the respirators; the parasite isn’t airborne and there are no toxins in the air. The best he can guess is that it’s a uniform or an intimidation tactic, or possibly both. That doesn’t even broach the question of _where_ they got them from. They look suspiciously like service respirators, but he refuses to believe they’re ex-military. Not all of them.

The man’s shoulders are broad and the sleeves of his black t-shirt visibly strain under the stress from the bulk of his muscles. Were Obi-Wan to try to fight him in a show of strength, he’d loose. Badly.

Which means he needs _skill_.

The man knocks over the boxes at his eye level and Obi-Wan doesn’t pause to see his reaction to the unexpected (expected) company. He launches himself at the other man, using the surprise to knock him off balance. One of the boxes gets caught beneath his feet and he goes down. Obi-Wan jerks his weight backwards to avoid being brought down too, using his advantage of height to step on the raider’s wrist, forcing him to drop the bat.

A leg comes at him, knocking him off balance and battering his ribs, knocking the air from Obi-Wan’s lungs and he can hear Threepio bark in protest on his behalf. The raider is _stronger_ than he looks, he thinks breathlessly from his new place on the floor. Now they’re both on the floor, the raider manages to roll on top of him, pining Obi-Wan with his weight. He brings up a fist to pummel Obi-Wan’s face, but Obi-Wan manages to dodge, twisting his shoulder so his knife arm can come up in an arc. The blade cuts through the flesh of the raider’s right arm at the same time his knee finds the raider’s crotch, and the raider screams in pain, flinching back and allowing Obi-Wan to roll to safety.

“You bastard,” the raider seethes, pushing himself to his feet.

“Quite possibly,” Obi-Wan agrees as he to gets to his feet. “I never knew my parents, let alone if they were married.”

That seems to confuse the raider. “What?”

It’s a bad habit his second used to hate and one he never shook.

_“You flirt too much Kenobi. Some day it’ll piss of the wrong person and your luck will run out.”_

_He’d given a cocksure grin back. “There’s no such thing a luck, Lieutenant.”_

_“Oh, really. Tell that to the deity keeping you alive when you finally meet them. They’re going to want some gratitude for their hard work.”_

Absently, he wonders where Boil is now. The _di’kut_ better still be alive.

The bat is on the floor between them and they both seem to realise at the same time. The raider beats him to it, despite Obi-Wan being faster, by shouldering him out of the way. But Obi-Wan manages to turn that to his advantage when he skids behind the raider, kicking out his knee and elbowing him sharply in the ribs.

It’s a cautious dance that he wants to end soon and he weighs up his options. It’s unclear if the raider wants him dead or merely limp, and that makes his own decision difficult. As loathe as he is to take a life, the last thing he needs is the raider reporting his existence back to his boss. Even if he were able to subdue him, there isn’t a POW camp behind friendly lines he can deposit him in, and he can’t leave him tied up here to starve.

He wishes the man had kept walking.

“You’re _dead_ ,” the man growls, answering at least one of Obi-Wan’s questions.

He’s allowed to act in self-defence.

“Not yet,” he answers, mildly. “Though, you’re welcome to try again. Many have.”

They face each other off, and Threepio treads an invisible ring around them with a careful distance. The raider begins to swing the metal bat in lazy circles before leaping forward. Obi-Wan manages to side step the bat’s range one way, but is blocked in by the boxes when it comes back the other way. He catches the man’s arm to stop the full force of the bat hitting him in the face. The resulting contact is still enough to make him see stars when it hits his cheek, though not enough to break bone. It’s muscle memory that guides the knife into the man’s armpit while he’s blind. The man shrieks in pain and pulls back, ripping the knife free.

Obi-Wan’s vision returns to the sight of spurting blood.

“Walk away,” he decides. “Walk away and I won’t follow.”

“Like fuck I will,” the man snarls.

Obi-Wan sighs and settles into a more defensive stance. The man’s left arm hangs uselessly by his side, crimson red soaks the side of his shirt, spreading rapidly and it’s only a matter of time before he bleeds out. His bat arm remains unharmed, and he charges Obi-Wan again with the one-track focus of a gundark.

He sidesteps the raider easily, and allows him to stumble into a pile of the boxes, where he staggers and falls to his knees.

Outside, there’s the sound of tires squealing as the van takes off down the street and Threepio twists his body to bark once at the retreating vehicle in victory. Obi-Wan can’t believe they haven’t heard the fight happening so close to them, and he guesses the galaxy must feel it owes him _something_.

The raider can’t seem to stand again, despite how hard he tries and he slumps to the floor instead. Cautiously, Obi-Wan approaches, kicking the bat out of lax fingers. All of the fight seems to have gone out of the raider, and Obi-Wan crouches by his head. Staccato breathing rasps through respirator and he takes pity on them.

Awkwardly, he manoeuvres the raider so they’re leaning against a stack of boxes. His fingers are slick with the man’s blood as he fiddles with the straps on the respirator to loosen it, and it takes a moment before he can slide it off. Beneath the mask, the man glowers at him with a hatred he has no way of expressing. Obi-Wan drops the respirator to the side.

They stare off for a few seconds.

“Yesterday some of my friends went missing from a farmhouse down the south side of town. Was that you?”

“Fuck _you_.” The man spits a glob a reddened saliva, presumably intended for Obi-Wan, pathetically onto his chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Do you know where they are now?”

The man is either unable or unwilling to formulate a response. A moment later his chest relaxes and eyes lose focus, staring at something Obi-Wan can’t see.

He leans back on his heels and closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing. This is far from the first time he’s seen someone die and it’s far from the first time he’s caused it. Really, it shouldn’t affect him. It’s just… been a while, that’s all.

_And it means he’s back in._

He wipes the knife clean on the cardboard of one of the boxes and does the same with his hands on his trousers. There’s very little on the raider when he pats him down; a lighter, a small flick knife and a vacuum pack of nuts are the only things of use. He stows the respirator in his bag, not because he thinks there’s a chance he’ll encounter gas, but because it might be useful for blending in with the locals should the need arise.

Threepio sits several feet away from the growing blood stain in distaste.

“This isn’t really what you signed up for, is it?”

Threepio looks at him with those sad, puppy-dog eyes of his.

“I’m sorry. If it helps, I didn’t either. Not this time, anyway.”

Obi-Wan takes the curtesy of peering out of the window to check the street is clear before his leaves the room. He feels he should do something with the body, but he has neither the means nor the time and the man _had_ tried to kill him. He reasons that the raiders will come and look for him eventually, and he finds it’s a small consolation that they _will_ find him. That, or this Slick will get an unwanted visit from the dead. He could stop him coming back, but he needs a firearm to do a neat job and he’s not about to pound the man’s skull in, so he makes sure the door is pulled too and the shutter is down when he leaves.

It takes him less than ten minutes to run to the bridge along the edge of the river. He keeps as low a profile as he can, not wanting to catch any unwanted attention again. It’s a small mercy that he doesn’t and he ends up hovering over the manhole cover, debating how exactly to make his presence known. He settles for knocking on the manhole cover as politely as he can. It’s several long minutes before its’ pushed aside from beneath by the barrel of a rifle and eyes peer out from beneath.

“What the fuck?” Rex growls. “You’re covered in blood _again_.”

“I have a slight problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should be up on Sunday (12/4/20) - which means I get the time on Sunday evening/night to review it. If I'm a bit behind, it might be up very early on Monday.
> 
> Comments and Kudos appreciated X


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could possibly go wrong when teaming up with your ex and his family, to save your own family? Especially if the lines between the two blur?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some clarification on everyone's age:  
> Ahsoka 17  
> Anakin 23  
> Obi-Wan 34  
> Cody 29  
> Rex 28  
> Kix 26  
> Fives and Echo 21  
> Boba 13  
> Jango 54

They all sit around the fire. The embers burn low, kept smouldering just enough for it not to die away completely. Heat lingers in the room nonetheless, a slightly oppressive humidity that banishes the damp and cold. Obi-Wan shivers anyway.

“So, let me get this straight,” Cody says, “you’ve changed your mind _and_ killed a man in less than six hours?”

He nods reluctantly. Threepio is curled around his feet, carefully positioning himself between Obi-Wan and the Fetts. He must have read the room, felt the tension in the air. Obi-Wan is flattered and reaches down to pet Threepio’s head in appreciation, drawing strength from the camaraderie.

Cody doesn’t seem happy to see him back, but he’s been allowed into the bunker, so it’s a start. Boba sits by Cody’s side, scowling unblinkingly in Obi-Wan’s direction. He’d be surprised if Boba even remembers him from before, which means all of his opinions of his brother’s ex have been formed by the lingering fallout of their breakup. Which, if nothing else, certainly answers the question about how he was perceived.

Rex stands behind Cody’s shoulder looking thoughtful. “And what was it your sister wrote?”

Rex has never met Ahsoka, but Cody has. Way back when they used to live together they’d drive down to the home and visit her at least once a week, if they weren’t both deployed. Cody had even gone alone on several occasions when he hadn’t been able to. At one point, there’d even been talk of adoption. _Together_.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Obi-Wan leans forward to pick up the fire-poking stick and scratches Ahsoka’s parting words into the ash (he tries not to think about the symbolism behind _that_ ). Cody leans forward to read it, while Rex sounds it out, and Fives and Echo stare on cluelessly.

He’s glad Jango isn’t here because it allows him a small reprieve before the inevitable confrontation. Like Cody had said; it’s Jango’s approval he needs to be accepted into the clan, however temporarily. Jango, Kix and Padmé had apparently left on a recon mission earlier that morning and aren’t due back until after dark. If they don’t show, that’s when Cody and Rex go in as back up.

“ _Baraks_ ,” Cody mutters. “Could be an abbreviation of barracks. It’s not like she had much time.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Obi-Wan admits, “but I’m not sure how much that helps us. It’s not like there’s a barracks nearby.”

Rex raises an eyebrow and suddenly looks excited. “Not officially, no, but the clankers are essentially a paramilitary and they have smaller bases all across town they may very well call barracks.”

 _Est,_ Obi-Wan thinks with sudden understanding; East. “They’re in the _East Barracks_.”

Rex’s eyes shine with satisfaction and even Cody looks slightly less grim. The brothers share a look and Rex raises an eyebrow in judgement. “You know he’s not going anywhere, you may as well show it to him.”

Cody hesitates for a second before reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a wad of folded paper. Trust Cody to have acquired a map. He unfolds and spreads it on the floor between Obi-Wan and himself. The flickering light of the fire shows it has been heavily inscribed.

“This is everything we know about the clankers’ positions at the moment,” Cody says with as much seriousness as if he were recounting a battle plan. “Red-” he points to the clusters of buildings outlined in red pencil “- is where we know clanker strong holds are. Blue is their regular known patrol routs, and orange is recent other activity. Obviously, it’s not complete, but it’s a work in progress. Dad, Kix and Sabé are out scouting out this area here-” he points to a housing estate on the far bank “- as we speak because we’ve seen trucks heading in that direction.”

The map is for a much larger geographical area than just the town, but it’s been folded back so that nothing else is visible. Obi-Wan eyes roam over the east side of town. It’s mostly old industrial works, and looks to be largely dockland and warehouses for the goods that used to be brought in by river. The area is a web of interlacing blue patrol roots and a single warehouse outlined in red. There’s nothing else noted.

“Could that be it?”

Cody looks sceptical. “Me and Rex spent most of last week combing through that wasteland, there’s not much there. That building looked to be mostly for storage of their vans and non-perishable stuff they’ve looted. I’d be surprised if they were keeping anyone there.”

Obi-Wan runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Could you have missed something?” He doesn’t mean to sound condescending, just desperate.

“Maybe,” Rex says, but sounds unconvinced.

“Congratulations,” Boba mutters. “You have no idea where they are.”

Obi-Wan looks away, allowing his eyes to close briefly. _He’s just a child_.

“ _Bob’ika,_ ” Rex snaps. “They’re his siblings. If it were one of us-”

“Brother and daughter,” Cody corrects.

“I-” Obi-Wan tails off. “It doesn’t matter.” Sometimes the line between the two blur. Their relationship isn’t so simple and Ahsoka tends to just call him Obi-Wan. Or _Old Man_ , depending on the situation. It’s not exactly like their family dynamic follows any other conventions anyway.

Nobody speaks for a moment and Echo shifts uncomfortably, nudging Fives to whisper something in his ear.

Obi-Wan sighs and stares at the map, trying to hold back his disdain. “I have something for you to add.”

“What-?”

There’s a series of rapid knocks against the manhole cover, a pause and then a repeat of the pattern. Everyone in the room freezes and Rex leaps up and grabs the rifle leaning against the wall. Obi-Wan and Cody are on their feet too, and Cody follows his brother out into the passageway. Rex’s resounding knock echoes down the corridor, followed by the sound of grating metal.

Cody’s voice seems to put Echo’s stressed posture at ease. “You’re back early.”

“It seems something’s going on. The clankers were crawling all over us and we decided it was best to get out. We did get some stuff for the map though.” Kix replies.

Jango cuts off anything else he’s going to say. “Something’s happened?”

There’s no reply and then Jango is standing in the doorway, eyes raking over Obi-Wan.

“You’re back.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“I am.”

“I take it something happened.”

“It did.”

Jango grunts and drops his bag by the wall, moving out of the doorway to allow Padmé past. The three of them look slightly damp, as if the midday heat has given way to a light rain. Padmé’s cheeks are red and their breathing is only just beginning to settle, and it looks as if they’ve run the whole way home.

Jango moves to stand by the fire, back to the sewer and opposite Obi-Wan. He gestures for Obi-Wan to sit backdown and Obi-Wan obliges while the offer is still on the table.

“Alright, spit it out,” Jango tells him.

So he does. He’s careful to keep his report more factual than emotional, pushing down the guilt to keep it from bleeding into his voice. Cody moves to stand behind his father for the retelling, while everyone else seats themselves unobtrusively around the fire to listen. It’s almost like he’s sitting in front of a council awaiting judgement. Cody’s arms are crossed like Jango’s, and the resemblance is uncanny. It’s always been a running joke that the Fett genes are strong; the stocky build, strong temperament and complete inability to sit still make a Fett stand apart from any crowd. And when they are the crowd, in Obi-Wan’s experience, things tend to take an interesting direction very quickly. Cody and Jango even both hold themselves in the same world-weary way, and the only real difference between the two are Jango’s age lines.

And the way Jango swears under his breath where Cody’s frown grows deeper instead.

“ _Kriffing osik_ ,” Jango mutters. For the first time, his anger isn’t projected towards Obi-Wan.

Padmé has taken the seat next to Obi-Wan and places her hand atop of his in a show of sympathy. In return he gives her a small commiserating smile.

“I assume you came back _here_ for a reason?” Jango asks. He sighs when Obi-Wan nods. “And I assume that reason is that you want our help?”

“I think we could help each other.”

Jango turns his head towards his eldest, eyebrow raised. Cody expression is stony and unyielding, betraying nothing about how he really feels. It’s such a typically _Cody_ way to deal with emotion that Obi-Wan doesn’t need to ask to know his presence isn’t wanted but tolerated for a greater purpose. He isn’t even surprised when Cody nods his consent; once in a short, sharp jerk of his head.

“Maybe,” Jango concedes. “I think we might be able to. But I need to make something very clear: you no-longer answer to yourself, you answer to all of us. That’s something you need to accept if you want to stay. We’re a team and we need to act like it.”

Instinctively he wants to argue, but he bites back the words. Anakin and Ahsoka need him far more than he needs to cling to his pride. And he’s more than aware why Jango’s words are quite so pointed. He knows exactly what the intended meaning is.

“Alright,” he agrees.

“Pull your weight and don’t do anything stupid, and you can stay.”

Cody’s façade nearly breaks into what Obi-Wan knows would be a snort of disbelief in any other situation, but the gravity of everything keeps it supressed.

“You have my word.”

Not that it means much to anyone here, not with a promise already broken. And doesn’t Jango know it – his brow raises in the same way Cody’s did when Obi-Wan used to try to convince him meditation really could be substituted for sleep, in a way that seems to say _we’ll see_.

It seems Jango has nothing further to say, because he turns towards the map still laid out on the floor and accepts a pencil from Echo. It’s an effective dismissal, and Obi-Wan still isn’t used to navigating this new quagmire of lingering resentment and distrust. He strokes Threepio’s head to give his hands something to do, a minor distraction from everything else that’s going on.

“Your dog?” He looks up to see Kix standing in front of him looking thoughtful.

“My brother’s. Mine by proxy I guess.”

“Huh,” Kix crouches to take over petting. “What’s his name?”

“Threepio.”

Kix rolls his eyes in the way all of the Fett’s seem to reserve _specifically_ for when they’re judging him. He wonders if it _is_ genetic or a by-product of environment and they’ve taught it to each other. “Odd.”

“I couldn’t talk Anakin out of it, I’m afraid. I have no idea what he was thinking.”

Rex looks up from where he’s reviewing the map with his father. “Nothing’s changed then.”

A smile nearly pulls across his face. “Not at all.” Anakin and Rex had got on alarmingly well from the start, despite how different they both appear at first glance. They’d been particularly good at causing mayhem at Fett Family EventsTM when they teamed up. It’s another relationship Obi-Wan has ruined in addition to his own; their loyalty to both of their siblings had kept them apart and that’s _his_ fault.

“It’ll be good to see him again,” Rex grins. “The look on his face alone will be worth having to deal with the clankers.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Kix’s eyebrow climbs questioningly at the sight of Obi-Wan’s botched attempt at bandaging Threepio’s flank. His fingers make short work of undoing the dressing and Obi-Wan doesn’t attempt to stop him – Kix is a field medic, or at least he was before all of this, and he knows far more about first aid than Obi-Wan (Cody would say that’s because he took an active interest in avoiding the medbay and any injuries he had in favour of denial, but that’s not strictly true, he did go. When the occasion was called for. Or when he was sedated.)

“This needs stitching,” Kix comments, discarding the bandages. “Hold on.”

He reappears with a rucksack full of med supplies that looks suspiciously like his old field bag. Kix directs Obi-Wan to hold down Threepio because their codeine stock is running low and they’re all out of fentanyl, and none of them have any clue about doses for dogs anyway. They don’t want to do more harm than good. Then he gets to work, disinfecting and then sewing up the wound with a practised precision that isn’t hindered by his first canine patient. Threepio whimpers with his tail between his legs, but either is self-aware enough not to move or his wound is _that_ bad.

Kix covers it with a large sticky pad and tosses the soiled bandages into the fire.

“Can’t do much more about the blood loss, but he should be alright. I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says sincerely.

“We’re a team, right? We look out for each other.”

“I-” he swallows and looks down at Threepio. It’s been a while since someone so easily extended help without strings attached. Since everything went to _osik_ , it’s just been him and Anakin and Ahsoka, looking outwards with a paranoia borne from experience. Kix knows what happened, what he did, and that alone should be an experience he should have learned from, yet he still extends his trust to Obi-Wan. “Thank you.”

Kix nods and packs away his things.

It doesn’t surprise him at all that Kix has appointed himself as the healer of the group and Obi-Wan remembers many hours of being fussed over post-mission by Kix while Cody sat on the couch in their front room, grinning at him and refusing to save his boyfriend from his brother. Kix hadn’t even had any kind of jurisdiction over him – he’d been part of a completely different army – but had simply appointed himself as the Fett family healer and designated Obi-Wan a Fett by association.

The last conversation they’d had, when Obi-Wan had come back from his last mission, had been when Kix had come round to their house. He and Cody had been fighting something awful and Kix had shown up in the middle of it to check him over as usual. They’d all sat in a hostile silence as Kix had scoffed at Obi-Wan’s stitching inability and began to unpick the sutures. Then Kix had started talking idly about future plans; Obi-Wan had suspected he’d wanted to say something – anything – to distract them from breaking out into an argument again with all the toxic anger palpable in the air.

Obi-Wan even remembers being _grateful_.

“Did you ever make it to med school?” he asks Kix.

Kix looks up from reorganising his bag and grins. “Yup. Got four years in and everything, was even set to graduate before the world announced it had other plans.”

The pride in his voice makes Obi-Wan smile, though he winces in sympathy at disrupted dreams and it twinges his shoulder in a way that has him sucking in breath. His fight this afternoon hadn’t been kind on his injury from the day before, and now the heat has died down, it’s making itself known.

“You alright?” Kix looks concerned and turns the weighted stare of a battlefield-medic-turned-almost-doctor upon him.

“I’m fine.”

Kix’s brow just climbs higher and he shifts around Threepio’s prone form to get a better look.

“I just jolted my shoulder, that’s all.”

He’s made to take off his jacket so that Kix can manipulate his arm back and forth, testing the range of motion and asking if it hurts.

“Lucky for you, nothing’s broken.”

Obi-Wan’s broken enough bones to have summarised that much. “Could have told you that for free.”

Evidently, Cody’s still listening while talking to his father about the newly acquired intel, because both he and Kix turn to glare at him with a shared disapproval. He has the good grace to look embarrassed, at least.

“It is strained, though, and you should probably go easy on it for a while. Wrapping it won’t do anything at this stage.”

They both know that isn’t going to happen, but he agrees all the same to keep up the pretence.

“There’s not much I can do about your eye, but the bruising should settle down eventually.”

Obi-Wan touches his eye and finds the skin tender and sore. He hadn’t even realised, but the raider’s elbow must have caught him harder than he thought. He shrugs – it’s not exactly a life-threatening injury and nor is it the first black eye he’s paraded around.

Kix leaves to stash his bag and when he returns, he wordlessly hands Obi-Wan a bar of soap. He takes the hint, whispering a promise to Threepio that he’s not going anywhere and leaves his things in a pile before he descends the ladder to wash. He takes more time today than yesterday, scraping the blood from under his nails and ringing his shirt to within an inch of its’ life (it’s most definitely a lost cause, but the raiders have taken everything, including his spare clothes). He also feels far more _dirty_ than the day before.

It’s far from the first time he’s taken a life, but it’s been a while; not since he got out of the army, not since before Cody ended things. He’s even a little bit proud he hasn’t killed anything living this past year, not even with the level of madness the world hosts now.

If he’s being honest with himself, he needs the time alone without the scrutiny of the Fetts to meditate. He does what he’s been taught to do since he was young and examines each of his emotions, trying to understand them and then letting them go. He can’t let it affect his judgement going forwards, not with Anakin and Ahsoka’s lives on the line.

Guilt is the most prominent emotion, wrapping around his mind with a vindictive ferocity. That’s to be expected – to take a life comes with a personal toll, a weight on one’s soul that must be borne forevermore. He replays the event in his mind, trying to think about how things could have gone differently. There was no chance for escape, not with the raiders blocking the street, and the man certainly had wanted to kill him. Was it a case of kill or be killed? Highly likely. It’s a possibility the man could have been subdued long enough for Obi-Wan to escape after the other raiders had gone, but that would have extended the fight and increased the risk of serious harm. In the event the man had been knocked out, he would later have returned to his boss and reported Obi-Wan’s presence, gaining him far too much attention. The next logical step would have been re-searching the area and that would have placed the Fetts in more danger.

His guilt, therefore, is valid. He has taken a life when there may have been another possibility, but that possibility was small, and he _is_ allowed to defend himself. So while his guilt is valid, it’s not productive. It’s self-serving and self-pitying and will taint the view he has of anything concerning the raiders going forward in a way that could be detrimental to those around him. He acknowledges the emotion and then releases his ties to it.

Anger is next and is more complex than guilt. There is anger at the man, certainly, for lingering and finding him, for leading the fight and allowing things to end the way they did. But there is also anger at himself for what he’s done and anger at the galaxy for forcing the situation upon him in addition to everything else going on. It’s far too much to be addressed in the little time he has now, but acknowledging his feelings, even fleetingly, will help him come to terms with them in the long term.

Moving meditation may have been taught in the context of working through katas, or fighting an enemy blindfolded – giving in to instinct and clearing the mind – but the same principle applies, and he washes himself as he meditates. He doesn’t know how long passes, and he spends his time picking apart everything the day has thrown at him. He’s interrupted, though, before he can even begin to process everything with Cody and his family. That’s something that will take far more than one meditation session because everything is so _complicated_ now. It’s probably for the best, for now anyway, because his mind is exhausted.

“You still down there?” Rex leans over the edge of the ledge to check he’s still alive.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Just brewed some caff up here if you want some.”

And, yeah, he really does. It’s been a while since he’s had any. Pickings have been lean recently, and as much as Obi-Wan prefers tea, their supply ran out long before the caff. He’d been making do, and really it hadn’t been _that_ bad. Which must be a statement about the dire state of things. Then, of course, their stash of caff had run out, and things got _worse_. It’s been _weeks_ since he got his fix, and the withdrawal is almost as bad as when the whiskey ran out. Which had been fairly early on and equally as painful.

“I’m coming.”

Someone has left him the same grey shirt he wore yesterday at the top of the ladder and he turns to Cody in protest, but Cody just gestures to it and waves him off. “You really can’t continue to wear that shirt. At this point it’s just indecent.”

He doesn’t protest further, because maybe Cody has a point. His fight earlier seems to have resulted in more lost buttons than are practical and the sleeve keeps catching on things, so he cuts his loses and exchanges it, ignoring the smell of the replacement. It smells like his memories of the rare lazy mornings they used to share and not a solid fact he holds in his hands.

Rex hands him a chipped enamel mug full of steaming caff. “It’s black I’m afraid.”

“It’s also instant and from a ration pack, you’ll hate it.” Cody tells him, without looking up from his own cup.

Obi-Wan is more than aware Cody thinks he’s a snob (he used to love it, tease him about it endlessly), and not least because of his insistence that filter caff is far superior to instant. Though you won’t find him complaining about caff in any form now, despite how much a part of him wants to.

“I’m not saying anything.” He says, unwilling to give Cody the satisfaction of being right (it seems that there’s a _possibility_ he’s not processed everything that happened with Cody, like he thought he had – some bitter feelings _may_ have lingered and while they discredit him, they seem difficult to dispel, but’s he working on it.)

He joins everyone else in the circle and sits down by his bag, close to the warmth of the fire to try and dry off as he begins to shiver from the cold, fingers wrapped around the mug. Then he remembers back to the start of this new nightmare. “I’ve got creamer.”

It seems like years since he was in that shop, but it was only yesterday afternoon.

Rex looks up. “You do?” he asks hopefully.

Obi-Wan roots through his bag and produces the slightly battered box of creamer, tossing it over to Rex. “Knock yourself out.”

It gets passed around the circle and Obi-Wan takes a couple of pinches for himself when it comes back around. There aren’t any spoons and he blows on the surface of the liquid to mix it together, before taking a sip. Neither the creamer or the caff granules have completely dissolved, and it’s a little on the bitter side of over-roasted. It’s the best thing he’s tasted in _months_ , even in present company. _Especially_ because of present company.

Despite everything he’s glad he’s here, now, because in another universe, he might be tasked with saving Anakin and Ahsoka alone. And despite everything, he’s missed the Fetts. _All_ of them.

An almost comfortable silence takes the room as everyone drinks. Boba seems to have mixed some of the creamer into hot water instead of caff, and Obi-Wan wants to smile. He’s still just a _kid_.

Next to him Padmé shifts uncomfortably and looks between him and Jango.

“What is it?”

Padmé bites her lip. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Always dangerous,” Obi-Wan agrees.

She looks genuinely apologetic about it though and that means he isn’t going to like whatever she’s been mulling over. Immediately his guard is up.

“It’s just, well, there was a reason they let me go,” she says. “They wanted something from me and they’re only keeping my mistress and my friends alive because they know if they don’t, then they won’t get anything out of it. They made it clear keeping them alive would be a bad investment otherwise.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t like where this is going, and he feels a familiar sinking in his gut.

“I’m just worried they don’t have a reason to keep your family alive if they don’t _think_ there’s anything they can get out of it.”

The atmosphere vanishes as she speaks and everyone is noticeably more on edge, their backs straighter.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” he asks, careful with the tone of is voice.

Padmé’s face contorts unhappily. “You need to let them know they hold all the cards, or that they hold any cards at all.”

And now that she’s said it aloud, it does make an awful lot of sense. Why didn’t the raiders simply kill Anakin and Ahsoka on site? It would have been far easier on their behalf. It’s possible they knew a third member of their little party existed, and are banking on him stepping forward. If he doesn’t make his presence known soon and make them an offer they can’t refuse, they might decide it’s not worth keeping them alive.

“You want him to confront the raiders?” Cody asks accusingly, almost protectively and Obi-Wan chides himself from reading into it too deeply. “What if they kill him or take him prisoner?”

But it makes sense, what she’s saying. Nobody wants to take on extra mouths to feed, certainly not the raiders. If they decide that they’re not worth keeping alive, it will be on him, _his fault_ for not stepping forward. “It’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

Cody turns his scowl on Obi-Wan and goes to say something, but Rex cuts him off. “We’ll go with him, of course.”

“ _No_ ,” Obi-Wan protests. “I couldn’t possibly put you in that kind of danger.”

“We’re a team now,” Echo interjects. “We make that decision together.”

He’s _already_ regretting agreeing to that. “But they don’t know you exist. It’s best to keep it that way as long as we can.”

“We could hide in the shadows, act as back up.” Rex counters.

Obi-Wan sighs and runs his hands through his damp hair. He’s going of course, there’s no question about _that_ – Anakin and Ahsoka are in _danger_. It’s that it’s suicidal at best and plain stupid at worst, and he doesn’t need everyone else being brought down with him.

Jango considers it. “We can’t all go, not if we want the back-up to go unnoticed. It’ll be easiest if it’s just you and one unseen rifle.”

“I’ll go,” Cody says abruptly and it’s clear he’s made up his mind.

Which is something Obi-Wan is going to have to do his best to change. “Cody-”

“No,” Cody cuts him off.

“No?”

“I know what you’re going to say and _no_ , you can’t convince me otherwise.”

He needs Cody to understand and lets out a frustrated huff as he struggles to find the words to explain. Some _Negotiator_. Typical for him to lose his eloquence around Cody. It seems some things never change, like how Cody knows exactly how to get his way.

“Can I speak to you in the corridor?” Everyone looks at Cody with ill-concealed astonishment, Obi-Wan included, but Cody’s on his feet before anyone can protest and when Rex goes to stand, he puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated. “Alone.”

“Urm,” Obi-Wan manages intelligently, standing because apparently his body is ahead of his mind and he has no control over anything. “After you.”

He follows Cody out into the corridor, the only privacy they’re going to get. A manufactured chatter erupts to life in an over-show they’re not being eavesdropped on. When Cody turns to face him, he swallows. He’s faced literal terrorists, kidnappers, enemy soldiers, isolation, being in uncomfortable proximities to explosives… a lot. He’s faced _a_ _lot_ , and yet this is by far his worst nightmare. Not Cody – _never_ Cody – but being presented with an opportunity for him to make everything somehow worse.

“Alright,” Cody says, and Obi-Wan knows him well enough to see he’s coaching himself through what he’s about to say. “I know this is… Boba was right when he said this would be awkward. Neither of us can deny that.”

Obi-Wan winces in agreement.

“But that’s on us. We shouldn’t push that onto anyone else.”

It’s only now they’re this close that he can see the dark bags under Cody’s eyes, and that’s despite the dimness of the corridor. They’re both tired, and they’ve both seen a hell of a lot more than any person should ever have to in a life time. But the galaxy doesn’t seem to care about giving good people what they deserve, because if it did then Cody wouldn’t be here, with him.

“We’re adults,” Cody continues, “and we’re both more than capable of getting along with each other for the sake of everyone else; I don’t want us fighting to get in the way of what we need to do. You want to get Anakin and Ahsoka back, and I want to find some place to settle down with my family, maybe take out a few _di’kut_ at the same time. There’s no reason we can’t be civil whilst we need each other to do that.”

Being this close to Cody is torture. It’s like being presented with the knowledge of what he could have had, if he had made better choices. In fact, that’s exactly what it is. Cody’s solid presence should be comforting, but then it _should_ have been by his side.

“You’re right,” Obi-Wan agrees quietly. “I don’t want to cause anyone unnecessary pain.”

“Good,” Cody says. “Then you won’t object to me coming with you.”

“I don’t think-”

“It’s the best practical option, we work well together and if I sent you out with my father there’s an admittedly high chance you might not come back. Kix is our medic, we can’t risk him unnecessarily. Fives and Echo are twins _and_ squaddies, we can’t separate them and if the three of you go, such a large group would be more easily found. We’re certainly not sending you with _Boba_. If you really have an objection to my presence, I’m sure Rex would go with you, but you’re certainly not going alone.”

“I don’t have an objection to your presence, that’s not my problem.”

He’ll never complain about _that_.

“Then what is?” Cody raises an eyebrow and looks directly into Obi-Wan’s eye. He can feel the judgement radiating across the two feet between them.

“Anakin and Ahsoka, they’re my responsibility and it’s on me to go to the townhall and speak to the raiders.”

Cody looks at him as if he’s incredibly obtuse, despite the fact his reasoning is solid, and then looks up to the sky as if begging for strength. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

 _If only that were true_ , he thinks. But then again, maybe it’s for the best he has.

“All the problems in the world are not your fault and you’re not the one who cares for your family. I like to think if it were Rex or Boba, or hell, any of my brothers in their place, you’d be just as set on getting involved.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t really know what to think about that. On one hand, he’d assumed Cody had written them all off when they’d broken up. On the other, it seems wrong to dismiss him in such a way; of course Cody still cares. He’s _Cody_.

And _obviously_ he’d get involved if any of Cody’s family were in danger.

“You want to know why I’m so dead set on this?” Cody studies his shoes for a moment. “I may not have been close with Anakin, but I was close with Ahsoka.”

And doesn’t Obi-Wan know that. When he thinks of the memories of happiness he clings to from before, his mind slips to the two of them together more than once.

“I checked up on her, you know. After we broke up. Kept on visiting.”

That _is_ news to him. Ahsoka certainly kept it quiet.

“Then she told me you’d filed all the paperwork for adoption and I just… we were going to do that _together_. I guess everything was still raw. I wanted her to be happy, and I wasn’t about to make her adoption more awkward, we both know the kid deserved it, so I backed off, asked her not to tell you anything about it.”

The uncomfortable curdling in his stomach is back, a sign of just how wrong everything is. They _should_ have done that together.

“While I stand by that decision, I still miss the kid and at least owe her a daring rescue. It’s been five years, Obi-Wan and I still think of her as-… well, it doesn’t matter.”

But it does. Of course, it does. She was going to be _their_ daughter and that’s why Cody was so hung up on the semantics of their family dynamic before when Rex had misnamed her as his sister. It seems he’s not the only one still morning a lost life.

“I-” he realises he doesn’t know how to respond to that at all. So much for being good with words. (And he is good with words, on how many missions has he had to talk his way out of things or negotiate with the enemy? It’s simply that it’s his emotions involved this time and it makes him tongue tied in a way he’s unused to.) He just hopes he can find the words he needs when it matters. “I won’t protest if you want to come.”

“Good.” Cody’s voice switches back to business-like again. “We better get planning.”

It hurts the way Cody speaks to him, as if he’s trying to protect himself.

Obi-Wan stands in the corridor after Cody steps past him to re-join his family, forehead pressed against the cold brick wall as he tries to sort through the flurry of information whirring around his head.

This nightmare isn’t going to end any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update should be on Friday evening (17/4/20)/ Saturday morning :)
> 
> Comments and Kudos appreciated x


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a bad plan goes badly, and there's an unexpected reunion
> 
> All mistakes are my own X

They make a collective decision to wait until the following morning before they set off. It gives them the time to plan (and dwell on how much of a bad idea this really is) and means they won’t face any trigger-happy night patrols.

They spend the time going over the map and planning the best and least-watched route to get there. Obi-Wan doesn’t really speak, allowing everyone else to debate while he memorises the map because they can’t risk taking it with them, not with the danger of them being captured so high. The information is far too valuable and they can’t let the raiders know they’re being watched. Surprise is one of the few elements they have on their side at the moment.

When Cody relays the fact it will be the two of them going on the mission alone, everyone in the circle shifts in discontent. Rex and Cody break out into an argument in rapid-fire Mando’a too fast for Obi-Wan to follow, then Jango speaks quietly but firmly and Rex nods but still looks as equally unhappy.

To stop the silence from becoming oppressive and to redirect the tense mistrust directed his way, Obi-Wan tells them about the informant, the one the raiders had referred to as Slick, like he’d intended to before the recon party had arrived back.

“That _chakaar_ ,” Jango curses.

Echo selects a new colour – a violent shade of yellow – and hashes off the area surrounding number forty-four, adding _chakaar_ to the key at the bottom of the map. Obi-Wan tries not to smile; bizarrely he’s missed the friendly abuse tossed around so carelessly by the Fetts. It’s also nice it’s not directed at him, for once.

“Should have guessed they had eyes everywhere,” Jango mutters.

Obi-Wan is good at reading people – he had to be, given the life he used to lead – but he’s always found Jango difficult. It’s like he switches the front he presents to the world for the sake of convenience. The game of faces and choosing personalities is not unfamiliar to Obi-Wan, and sometimes he’s so good at it that he finds he loses himself beneath the layers. It doesn’t escape his notice it takes like to know like, and a small part of him has always wondered exactly what Jango used to do in the past beyond special forces, because he plays the game just as well, and sometimes just as subconsciously. It can be a hard habit to break.

Like now, for instance. The look Jango is directing his way, more though body language than side-eye, is like a persona he’s adopted in response to a threat. The threat, of course, is his presence working in close conjunction with Cody, with his son. It’s the parental instinct twining with that of a deadly… Obi-Wan almost wants to describe it as a _hunter_. It’s unnerving enough to put him ill-at-ease, though that is clearly the intention.

“We need to assume that there are eyes everywhere from now on,” Jango continues. “They already know about us – or you two at least,” he looks to Rex and Cody, “and we can’t let them know anything more. If you find an informant, you take them down. Understand? They’re too much of a threat to us.”

Cody nods, his face a careful mask. He’s a safe distance from Obi-Wan, with Rex between them.

Obi-Wan wants to argue that literally anyone could be an informant and that he certainly isn’t about to go on some kind of _killing spree_. But there’s evidently a rank structure within the group, with Jango at the top, and Rex and Cody as his seconds. Obi-Wan has no idea where he fits into that, and despite outranking all of them in the actual military, he suspects here his station rests more towards the bottom of the scrap heap.

“You got anything besides that knife?” Jango asks him.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. He now has that smaller flick knife too, but that’s not really an improvement on his hunting knife’s range. In a firefight the most use he’ll be is a minor distraction.

“Sort him out Rex.” Jango claps his hands as if to say _right, that’s it_.

While that sounds vaguely ominous, he doesn’t have a chance to ask what it means because everyone seems to take that as a cue to go about their chores. Echo and Fives strip unabashedly and disappear down the ladder to the sound of excited splashing. Boba follows them a moment later, slightly more reserved. Cody disappears over to the bags with Rex, and Jango moves to fold up the map.

“Overwhelmed?”

He turns in Padmé’s direction. “A little bit,” he admits.

She gives him a grimace of sympathy before flicking her eyes over to where Rex and Cody are either talking, or arguing with an unprecedented restraint, he can’t tell.

“They’re really something.”

“Oh, I do.”

Padmé gives him a knowing look he does his best to ignore.

“I’m sorry about yesterday.”

He draws his gaze back from across the room to meet her eyes. The sincerity in her voice is genuine and her smile is small and sad, apologetic in a way only a diplomat can be. “You don’t have to apologize,” he tells her. “You didn’t know.”

“I do,” she insists. “I may not have realized what was going on, but I should have read the room.”

She’d been worried about her people and their safety, and that’s understandable.

“I think other things have all of our attention. I can’t blame anyone for being distracted right now, that would be hypocritical.”

Their gaze drifts back to the stack of bags and kit, watching the brothers look for something.

“I won’t ask what happened, but if you need to talk to someone I’m here.”

“While the offer is appreciated, I don’t think there’s much left to say. Or shout, rather.” He winces when he thinks of his return home. “The last few days were _vocal_ … and not in the good way.”

Padmé allows herself a scandalised giggle that sends both brothers looking their way. Rex raises an eyebrow in question, but she just shakes her head.

“ _Obi-Wan_ ,” she says, in mock horror.

“I’m sorry, _Sab_ _é_. I forgot there was a _lady_ present.”

She swats at his arm but her eyes still betray her mirth.

Rex and Cody appear, the latter scowling at no-one in particular. In Rex’s arms is an oddly shaped package, long and thin in a far too familiar shape. Obi-Wan sighs.

“Cody, could you help me with something?” Padmé asks, and Cody nods stiffly, allowing himself to be led away.

“Right,” Rex says awkwardly and then mutters something in Mando’a under his breath about subtilty.

He drops down to a crouch next to Obi-Wan and lays the package on the flood to unwrap it. The rifle is a newer model to the one he’s used to, but Rex explains that just means the recoil is better and it’s less likely to get an obstruction when it overheats. Apparently, it was brought in as standard across the GAR for all the front line forces the year he left. This one has a slightly modified sight, courtesy of Rex himself, and the bayonet fitting has been warped so that is fits something non-standard.

“Ah,” Rex says as he notices where Obi-Wan’s looking. “The steel they gave us was _osik_. May as well be made of plastoid for how brittle it was. Dad had some of the beskar heirlooms re-forged when Cody and I complained, said the ancestors would be honoured that it was still being used to keep the family safe.”

The bayonet itself is wrapped in a layer of velvet to stop it from scratching anything. Obi-Wan handles it with care, almost reverently in fact. Beskar is rare, one of the few metals that doesn’t lose its edge or rust over time. It’s strong too, stronger than steel. But it’s the history of it that makes it really special – what it’s meant to so many different people. Cody’s shown him some of the Fett beskar before, the pieces of armour passed down through the generations as rites of passage, and the assortment of knives they were associated with.

Rex takes it from his hands and attaches it to the end of the rifle. “The weight should be fine. More balanced if anything.”

He feels uncomfortable with something so valuable in his possession that he neither has a claim or a right to. It’s another thing he can’t take from the Fetts. Obi-Wan tries to voice his opinion but Rex shuts him down.

“I know what you’re going to say, so _don’t_. You’re taking it whether you like it or not because it’s you that’s going to have my brother’s back. You take it and you use it to keep him alive. Understood?”

Obi-Wan can’t argue with that. He nods.

“Good.” Rex hands him four ammo clips. “These are standard – thirty round capacity each. We don’t have a whole lot of ammo so conserve what you have. I’m hoping you can avoid any kind of firefight, but if you can’t here’s forty extra rounds. Can’t really spare anything else.”

Rex hands him a cleaning kit and leaves him to examine the rifle. He strips it efficiently, pleased at his muscle memory…and he doesn’t really know what to think about that. Five years may have passed, but that doesn’t seem to mean anything if he’s back where he swore he would never be. When he’d handed his own rifle in along with his rank, he’d had no regrets, eager to leave it all behind. He’d sworn he was out of that life – the military, the JEDI, the missions, all of it – that he would never touch another weapon with an intent against a life. At the time, he’d seen no reason for him ever to get back _in_ , it had ruined his life after all.

But the galaxy does love to mock.

It’s scrupulously clean and well oiled, but he goes over everything again mostly for something to do with his hands. It’s familiar enough that he slips into a working meditation; he has a lot to think about, particularly if he wants a clear head for tomorrow.

Everything is so confusing (wrong his mind corrects – everything is _wrong_ ), but he’s got a specific problem in mind to address: Cody. Seeing him again makes him feel… what? Guilt, obviously, accompanied by a thunderstorm of emotions set free after years of repression.

But it’s pointless to dwell on his past actions, he realises. He’s meditated on them a thousand times and he could meditate on them a thousand more and still never come to a resolution because there were some things that were never resolved. _(I love you, but I can’t be with you.)_ He can’t believe it’s taken seeing Cody again to realise that. He was wrong when he told Padmé everything that could have been said between them _had_ been said, because there is one very important question both of them had steadfastly skirted. _(Cody, that’s a contradiction). (No, it isn’t)._

Except, he can’t possibly ask Cody that question now, it would be worse than cruel. Which means Cody’s right, they need to act professionally for the sake of everyone involved, and he simply has to bare his situation. Obi-Wan’s emotions are going to continue to bleed everywhere because he can’t deal with them like he’s been taught. He just needs to keep it from getting messy, contain them within himself so they don’t inflict suffering on anyone else.

Any more so than it already is.

_(I can’t do this anymore. I can’t come home and not find you there because you lied.)_

_(You won’t.)_

_(Can you promise me that?) (I didn’t think so)._

“Thinking too hard again?” Padmé asks and he looks up from his work.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Give me a hand with dinner, I think Fives and Echo caught something.”

Obi-Wan slides the gas parts back in and places his fully reassembled rifle to one side. “Caught?” he asks cautiously.

He follows where she points and sees Echo with a net made of twine as he climbs the last ladder rung. It’s the only thing protecting his modesty and again Obi-Wan wonders if its environmental or a genetic Fett thing they can’t help.

“Meat’s back on the menu boys!” Echo brandishes the net. “And Ladies,” he adds, bowing towards Padmé.

“Nerd.” Fives punches his brother in the arm.

“Oooh,” Echo deadpans, “ _burn_.”

“Like it’s not true.”

“Maybe do the Lady a favour,” Jango says dryly, grabbing the net off his son, “and put on some kriffing clothes.”

Padmé smirks and looks back at Obi-Wan. “Going to help?”

He nods. “I just have one question – how?”

“They rigged a net across one of the arches when they realised the water came from the river. It’s the only fresh food we’ve been having.”

“You mean to tell me I’ve been bathing with…” he gestures at the net, “ _them_.”

Three crabs try desperately to wriggle free from the net, their spindly little legs clattering against each other’s slime-green shells. Bright red eyes seem to pick him out from a distance and their mandibles click in displeasure.

Padmé smiles. “Sure.”

He can feel his skin crawl. Everyone else is far too calm about their bathing companions. “You’re all insane,” he whispers.

She rolls her eyes. “Stop being dramatic.”

The rest of the night is spent deshelling and roasting crabs over the fire. It’s like Anakin’s cooking all over again, and he has to pass one of the tins of peaches around afterward to get the taste out of his mouth. Cody seems to enjoy his displeasure, not vindictively, but he’s certainly amused.

They go over their plan again, not that they have much of one, and then they all bed down for the night. Fives and Echo take the first watch, with a promise from Padmé and then Jango for relief later in the night. He finds himself sleeping in the same place as the night before, head pillowed by the misshapen lump of his rucksack. The rifle is by his side and he can hear a long dead voice repeating the mantra _this weapon is your life, never let it out of your sight_. His sight being no more than five feet from his person – and wouldn’t Qui-Gon be disappointed at the fives years he’s spent apart from it.

Bizarrely he almost sleeps through the night, only waking when Echo steps on his hand with an apologetic mutter.

“Sorry, forgot you were there.”

He’s woken properly by Jango’s hand on his shoulder. Cody’s already awake, going through his own kit, and the three of them eat a small breakfast of ration bars (who knew cranberries tasted so much like sawdust) before Jango waves them up the ladder and into the morning air.

 _“Cuyir morut'yc ad. Olaror norac at ni.”_ Jango commands his son, pressing their foreheads together with a hand on the back of Cody’s neck.

_“Buir, vi kelir cuyir jate.”_

It crosses Obi-Wan’s mind that maybe Jango still doesn’t know he knows Mando’a, and he raises an eyebrow at Cody, but keeps quiet at the answering plea for secrecy. It’s considered traitorous to teach the language to anyone not a member of the clan (a privilege he’d been so close to earning) and Cody had been teaching him pre-emptively. Now is really not the time for _that_ revelation to come to light.

Cody pulls the cover back over the manhole before looking back over at Obi-Wan. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Obi-Wan stays behind Cody as he peers round the edge of the bridge to check for danger. They’ve purposely planned the route so that it avoids Slick’s danger area, and they slip off to the right instead of the left, following the river upstream for a while before turning up an unassuming road heading towards the centre of town.

The weight of the rifle in his arms is comforting and he holds it across his chest as if that’s where it belongs. His knife is still tucked into the back of his belt and the small flick knife is shoved down the side of his boot, just in case. The rest of the ammo clips and spare rounds are in his bag along with a days’ worth of rations issued to him by Kix last night. He’s left the cans and other junk in his bag behind. The only concession for dead weight he’s made had been transferring Ahsoka’s silka beads from his ruined shirt to one of the zip pockets in his new jacket.

They make quick progress, keeping their profiles tucked against cover as much as they can, neither speaking. Obi-Wan doesn’t think either of them would know what to say, even if it wouldn’t endanger them, and he finds being alone in Cody’s company is almost awkward, something it’s _never_ been before. When their destination appears in their line of sight, he’s almost grateful.

The town hall is in the centre sprawl of the administrative and official buildings in the old district. Rex, Cody and Jango apparently spent several days scouting the area out, testing the boundaries of the compound that’s been built up around the town hall itself. From the map he knows the raiders have erected a fence around the perimeter and Rex had added his own, more vivid description of it. It’s made from whatever they could get their hands on; the result is a cobbled together monstrosity of wood and metal that circles the old town hall building, the park in front of it and one of the office blocks nearby where they house most of their people. It’s patrolled regularly and is as close to a fortress as anyone is capable of creating post-apocalypse.

Cody and Obi-Wan don’t want to get any closer than they absolutely have to and they certainly don’t want to make it seem as if they’re sneaking up on the raiders, despite the fact that’s _exactly_ what they’re doing. The plan is to leave Cody in the multi-story car park that looks down on the compound from over the road so that he can have Obi-Wan’s back without revealing his own presence.

Being as careful as they are about concealing themselves once they get close, it takes until almost midday for them to reach the carpark and climb up to the forth story and find a perch for Cody where he can easily settle for as long as he’s needed. The position is strategic and on a corner that looks over the compound on the right side and the road Obi-Wan must walk along to get to it on the left. The drainage system leaves convenient gaps at the bottom of the concrete wall for rain to run out, allowing Cody to lie on the floor with the muzzle of his rifle pushed through the gap to scope below. It means he can cover Obi-Wan without having to stick his head over the top of the concrete wall and risk being seen by any lookouts.

Cody settles into position while Obi-Wan shrugs his bag off. There’s no point handing their enemy ammunition after all.

“Clankers positioned along the road,” Cody warns him quietly, “they’ll be able to see you once you reach the crossroads.”

Obi-Wan nods. It doesn’t really change anything, because he wants to be noticed anyway, but it’s good to know what he’s walking into all the same. “Why do you call them that?” Cody turns to look at him and he clarifies, “Clankers?”

“Because they make a hell of a lot of noise.”

That’s fair he concedes, maybe even accurate.

There’s a moment where neither of them say anything, though it’s clear they both want to. This is where they part ways and have to trust the other (and isn’t _that_ difficult, but they both volunteered to do this and they both want the same thing, so they have to do it anyway). Then Cody pushes himself up to grip Obi-Wan’s forearm tightly. He hesitates before returning the gesture, aware that it implies a level of connection without any intimacy. How one might greet a friendly acquaintance or business associate, or a warrior of the same clan but one not known personally. Not how one would greet family or close friends.

“Stay safe,” Cody whispers, his smile tight. “I’ve got your back, but I’d appreciate you not doing anything that’ll get you killed all the same.”

“I’ll do my best.” As promises go, it’s not a strong one, but he’s as equally unwilling to make promises he can’t keep.

And wasn’t that the biggest problem between them.

_“Promise me Obi-Wan, that you won’t put me through that again.”_

_“Please don’t ask that of me.”_

Cody drops his arm and turns back to his post.

Obi-Wan crouches below the height of the wall as he runs back to the staircase, hyperaware of hidden eyes. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to Cody before they’ve even begun. The second he’s through the door he’s running down the stairs, taking them three at a time and at one-point vaulting over a misplaced shopping trolley.

The street below only _appears_ to be empty, they know that from the map, but there’s a subway that passes underneath the road, connecting the carpark to a small green square on the opposite side. It allowed him and Cody to pass into the carpark unseen and allows him to leave and make it appear as if he’s approached the street from a completely different direction. They’re banking on the fact that nobody’s seen them before Obi-Wan wants to be seen and it’s entirely possible that’s not the case, but it’s a risk they have to take. This whole venture is one big gamble of half-guessed truths and assumptions.

The flower beds that line the small grassy area at the mouth of the subway have long since been overrun with weeds. Only the concrete borders keep up the pretence anymore. A gnarled tree is the centre piece of the small park, its growth artificially stunted during the age of civilisation, has broken free of its restraints and pushed its roots up through the concrete path, exposing the ground beneath. Obi-Wan stalks around the back of the tree and then straightens his posture, and sets off along the path up to the main road at a weary walk.

He wants it to look like he’s confidently foolish enough to come alone to anyone watching, so he walks along the middle of what was once a main road, overlooked by high office buildings and the carpark. The stock of the rifle in his shoulder isn’t much of a comfort, not when a sniper could take his head off before either he or Cody know he’s in trouble.

There are so many reasons this is a bad idea.

He weaves between the jam of abandoned cars, keeping the perfunctory ear out for the dead. One of the Clankers Cody pointed out shifts in his peripheral vision as he’s spotted. Obi-Wan takes deep breaths, exhaling purposefully. This isn’t the first time he’s openly walked towards the enemy’s line. He’s just usually wearing body armour and most of the time the basic plan is more than getting caught.

Something shuffles behind him, louder than the dead would ever be. The Clanker – and they are _clankers_ he agrees – is looping around behind him to cut off his escape route. He doesn’t allow himself to look, and his finger rests on the safety for comfort. He won’t shoot first, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to hang around if things go south.

He makes it almost a hundred metres from where the barricade blocks the road before he’s stopped. The town hall looms behind, noticeable because it’s the only building that’s managed to keep its original façade and despite much reworking over the years, it’s managed to retain a certain kind of charm. A Clanker behind the wall, their sights blatantly trained on him, calls out to him and within moments more swarm forwards, eager to see what’s going on.

“Halt!” the Clanker shouts.

He doesn’t protest, and stops in line with one of the cars they’ve pushed over, onto its side as an additional defence. His rifle remains pointed at the ground to his side, as non-threatening as he can manage.

“Who are you?”

There’s more movement behind him, the work of several pairs of feet, and he knows he’s surrounded. It’s now or never. “You have something of mine,” he calls out, “and I wanted to work something out with your boss.”

He can practically feel Cody hovering over his mark. Not anything supernatural, but an innate appreciation for how he works in the field. From their joint-nation cross-border missions, he knows how Cody prefers to operate – cleanly and efficiently. With the weapon he’s using at the distance he’s at, he can’t go for his usual target between the eyes, but his line of sight won’t be that far off. Should the Clanker make a move towards him, they’re as good as dead.

The problem then is the thirty others protecting the compound, both in and out. And those are only the ones he can count.

“And what would that be?” the Clanker asks.

“My family.”

“ _Your_ _family_?” the Clanker mocks.

He purposely doesn’t look up towards Cody.

“Yes.”

The Clanker considers for a moment and he sees them turning towards one of their own to discuss something before turning back. “What’s your name?” they repeat.

His grimace sets further on his face. It feels foolhardy to give away such a personal piece of information, no matter if he could make up a false one easily. “I want to talk to your master.”

He can feel the Clanker’s answering scowl, even if he’s too far away to see it and it is hidden behind a respirator. All the same, he’s not shot on the spot and the Clanker turns back to their companion. They speak for a brief moment, before the other one turns and walks away.

Well, that went indefinitely better than hoped.

He’s even still breathing.

Behind, the Clankers edge closer, giving up the pretence of hiding and switching to outrightly flanking him instead. The Clanker by the fence makes a hand signal recognised by no official force he’s aware of and the Clankers by his side close in, weapons pointed in places he’d rather they weren’t. He allows himself to be herded forwards, until he can make out the blonde curls of the one who seems to be in charge.

“You have an awful lot of audacity coming here.” Her head cocks questioningly to one side, and he can only guess that her eyes are trained on him beneath the reflecting glass.

Obi-Wan smiles as if he’s been complimented. “Hardly the first time someone’s told me that.”

The end of the rifle pressed against the small of his back jabs him sharply, forcing him to shift his balance to prevent himself from pitching forwards at the rebuke.

“Were I stood where you are, I might show more respect.” The Clanker comments offhandedly, turning to look behind her at the sound of footsteps. Her messenger has returned.

“The Lady will meet him by the steps.”

“You’re in luck,” the Clanker tells him and motions for the gate to be opened.

A roll of barbed wire is dragged out of the way, and from the gouges in the floor it looks like it has to be every time someone wants to leave. The squeal of rusting metal on stone makes more than just Obi-Wan wince. Then the makeshift gate – a fence upended and braced on a pivot – is swung open, and he’s prodded inside the compound. He really hopes Cody can keep him within his sight. If things go really badly and he gives the signal, hopefully Cody will be able to provide enough of a distraction for him to make a getaway. _Hopefully_.

Inside, it seems, is where the Clankers allow themselves to relax when they’re off duty. Around small fires they cook or play some kind of card game, where the stakes are small pieces of coloured plastic, accompanied by the sound of raucous laughter that falls silent when they spy him. Saturated mud has been trampled over the tarmac of the road, and if the heat was any less oppressive the camp would be a bog. Gas lights mark the path through the camp of mismatched tents and temporary shelters, and as Obi-Wan is led past _maskless_ people turn to gawk at him. It appears that the respirators come off when they relax and it _is_ a kind of uniform. All of the Clankers are still armed to the teeth and he increasingly doubts his ability to muscle his way out of the compound. He might have to re-earn his Negotiator badge.

They’re followed and his honour guard seems to increase tenfold as they attract attention. Whispers and jeers are hurled at his back, and they don’t stop when they reach the foot of the stairs to the townhall. Instead, some of the audience fan out up the dirty white granite steps to get a better view. He’s kept at the bottom, heavily guarded by the rest of the crowd, but it’s telling of their own confidence that nobody moves to take his rifle.

The blonde Clanker clears a path for herself up to the top of the steps, where she greets someone who is obviously her superior. It seems insulting to describe _the Lady_ as a Clanker; there is nothing brash or careless about how she holds herself, above all of those who quiet when she holds out her hand. Instead, she oozes a fluid grace and makes no sound as she descends to greet him. The fear the Clankers have of her is obvious and none of them dare to speak once she demands silence.

“My dear, it is so good of you to come.” She speaks with a predatory purr when she stops at the bottom of the steps, feet from Obi-Wan. “But to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Whatever he’d expected to deal with, it was _not_ this. Hair on the back of his neck stands on end, screaming to him in a wordless warning. He’s missing something, something that’s vital he knows about and while he remains ignorant, the Lady has the upper hand.

Practice allows him to slip into a tone of indifference. “It’s not a social visit, I’m afraid.”

“It never is these days.” Her regret almost sounds genuine.

The Lady doesn’t have a firearm like her minions do, instead she’s armed with two wickedly curved blades, one holstered on each hip. From the way she carries them and the way she holds herself, it’s clear they’re not decorative and Obi-Wan finds he’s more concerned about them than the barrel digging into his back. Her head is shaved and tattoos have been inked arching down from each side of her lips, standing out from pale skin that doesn’t look to have ever been concealed beneath a mask. Clearly, she’s above such things.

“I was hoping you might aid me in finding my family.”

“Oh?” Her brow arches in question. “And why would we do that?”

“Perhaps we could come to an arrangement that suits the both of us?”

She hums in consideration and approaches him closer to get a better look, circling him slowly and forcing his guards to take a step back so she can do so. One of her blade sheaths brushes against the side of his leg and he represses the memory of the last time he saw someone fight with such weapons. It’s been a _long_ time and even longer since he last held a blade himself.

He has no way of telling if she approves of what she sees.

“Who would your family be?”

“A man and a girl – teenager, really – taken from an outlying farm less than two days ago.”

She makes a click of recognition in the back of her throat. “It would be a high price, and I’m not sure you could afford to pay.” She looks him down, from head to toe, with blatant disdain. “They both proved to be admirable fighters. _Useful_ fighters. You’d be robbing us if we just allowed you to take them.”

Obi-Wan keeps his thoughts beneath a shield of outward passive nonchalance. The Clankers _have_ taken Anakin and Ahsoka – they had assumed before, now they _know_ – but Padmé’s fears for their lives are unfounded which, well, at least they know that too now. And they’re apparently too useful to kill (that’s good, he supposes, but also _horrific_ ).

“Their price would be worthy replacements. _Willing_ replacements to unquestionably follow orders.”

He doubts either of them are proving _willing_ to be made into Clankers, which is presumably why this deal is worth the Lady’s time.

“And how would you determine that?”

“Quite simply.” She turns her back to him to gesture up the steps for someone to come down. “We have you fight to prove your worth.”

He _really_ hopes Cody at least manages to take her down when everything does go wrong. The playful tone with which she debates the lives of those he loves _grates_ in a way even warlords never had.

The man that comes down the stairs is taller than Obi-Wan, though not by much, and looks familiar in a way he can’t place. It’s his gait that rings a small bell in the back of his mind, because he wears one of the respirators that obscures his face, and the rest of his skin is covered by black of one kind or another. The man is infinitely stockier than Obi-Wan – the productive of being well fed and given the time to work out – and walks with a confidence that implies he has every reason to be where he is. He stops next to the Lady with all the obedience of a well-trained lapdog.

“If you can beat him, we’ll allow you to take the place of one of your family,” the Lady says.

Not a thrilling prospect, but it _is_ a prospect.

“And the other member?” he asks.

He knows Anakin would want him to pick Ahsoka. And if given no other choice he _would_. They both want her to be able to walk away from this, she’s the youngest of them all and she certainly doesn’t deserve any of this. But he wants to save them both, they’re his family. His _responsibility_. He won’t ever be able to rest if he doesn’t know they’re safe.

The Lady considers for a moment. “Win this fight and I may allow you to leave and find someone to replace the other, and they too must prove themselves capable. Lose this fight and the deal is off. I have no use for mouths that can’t earn their keep.”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to grind his teeth. It’s cruel while seeming fair and still manages to be far more of an olive branch that he was expecting. A cursive _fuck you_ from the galaxy.

The only reply he can give is to nod his assent; he doesn’t have the conviction to verbalise his agreement. And even that makes his stomach roll with nausea.

The Lady nods to her side without taking her eyes off him, and the newcomer seems to take that as an encouragement to brush past Obi-Wan, forcing the Clankers back, away from the three of them. A misshapen ring is shuffled into place, the perimeter made up of the bodies of Clankers vying for a front-seat view.

“It has to be a fair fight, so no weapons” the Lady says, idly walking the perimeter of the circle. If he didn’t think it beneath her, he’d say she was basking in the attention. “The winner is the first to draw blood.”

Obi-Wan doubts there’s going to be anything fair about this fight, but he is glad that the man gives up the gun strapped to his thigh and the broad knife he slides out of his sleeve. Fingers take the knife from the back of his own belt and relieve him of his rifle. He lets them take his things, feeling unreasonably naked given he has yet to even fire the damn thing, but neglects to tell them about the knife in his boot.

If he does end up in a cell, he needs an _out_.

The man he’s facing off against drops into a ready stance. It seems there’s going to be no delays. Of the things, he didn’t expect _efficiency_ from Clankers. While the Clankers around them shriek their approval, the man holds himself without pleasure, as if his role is a chore. Obi-Wan can sympathise, but he didn’t expect to and it’s slightly off putting.

This close to the Clanker, the mask really does work in his favour. It is intimidating to not be able to look into the eyes of his opponent when the fight is just between them. It should be personal, but it isn’t, and all of Obi-Wan’s usual exchange of dominating stares are lost.

After a moment’s appraisal of his opponent – he’s leaning forwards onto his front foot, a sure sign he’s waiting to make his move – Obi-Wan slips back into a defensive stance, pushing the Clanker circle out of his immediate focus. With an almost clinical precision his opponent surges forwards, crowding into Obi-Wan’s space and making a jab for his face. It’s a testing blow with no heat behind it, and he knocks it easily aside, following through with an attempted blow to the ribs that’s thwarted by the Clanker’s elbow at the last second.

An exchange of minor blows later, they come apart. They end up circling, both unwilling to let the other close enough to resume the fight. Obi-Wan finds he’s concerned by the Clanker’s detachment. Every move he makes seems to be carefully calculated to be just enough to meet someone’s expectations – the Lady’s presumably. There’s no enthusiasm or passion of any kind behind the Clanker’s drive and by every law he knows that should be detrimental to the Clanker’s ability to fight.

The man strikes first again, and this time there is force behind the punch that Obi-Wan ducks under. He punches back, impressed at the speed with which it’s countered and leans back on his rear foot to avoid the answering blow. They almost slip into a spar instead of a fate-determining fight and Obi-Wan half-imagines he’s back at the Academy or the gym in one of his old barracks, facing off one of his men or training against one of his brothers or sisters.

“ _Secura_ ,” the Lady warns.

Obi-Wan blinks at the familiarity of the name, and shakes away the thought. He rolls his shoulder to dissipate the lingering stiffness of injury. It can’t be such a rare last name.

The change in the man’s demeanour is obvious, and whatever message the Lady had been trying to convey has clearly been heard. There’s even a slightly desperate edge to the man’s next move where he risks a kick to Obi-Wan’s side. Obi-Wan takes the opportunity to dart into the man’s personal space, shouldering him off balance while he’s on one leg. Except the man manages to get his airborne leg wrapped around the back of Obi-Wan’s knee as he falls and they both go down into the stodgy mud.

Hopefully Cody isn’t watching too closely.

There’s no finesse on the floor, just a battle of strength and Obi-Wan’s trapped beneath the man’s leg, unable to move. His fingers find the man’s floating ribs and he can hear a hiss of pain above him, before the man swings his weight and shifts his position and Obi-Wan finds himself in a headlock that’s cutting off his air supply.

Black spots burst to life at the edge of his vision as the pressure in his head builds, and there’s a gushing in his ears as the Clanker _squeezes_. Distantly he thinks he hears Cody’s voice screaming at him to _keep moving_ , but that can’t be right because Cody is too far away, and he thinks he can taste sand at the back of his throat and in his mouth (though that might just be the dry mass of his tongue) and it reminds him of Geonosis.

Cody had saved his life that day.

He scrabbles to find a purchase to push against as his strength begins to fail him. The ways he was taught to break a headlock in training are useless because his body is trapped beneath the Clanker and he can’t twist himself free. _Keep moving_. His fingers find rubber and hair, and he _pulls_ , grateful for all of the zero-oxygen practice drills that have instilled the mental conviction he needs to _not stop_. The Clanker’s whole body jerks to the side as Obi-Wan rips his mask off with a snapping of plastic and metal, and it allows him to roll free, gasping for breath as he forces himself to his feet, light headed but _still moving_.

The static clears and he can see the Clanker as he too stands. He can _see_ the Clanker, unmasked to the world, (there’s _no way_ fighting in a respirator is any kind of practical), and he can see now why he thought he knew the man before. It’s always been a running joke that the Fett genes runs strong in the family, but it’s also _true_ and everything about this man screams _Fett_. From his broad shoulders to his military-issue scowl. Obi-Wan doesn’t _know_ him though, and he’s pretty sure he’d remember the gold tattoos across his cheekbones if nothing else. It’s still like being punched in the gut, and he’d like to sit down and have a civil conversation with the hands of fate about reasonable things, like a break from being thrown this sort of shit.

They both stand there, harsh breaths drowned out by the crowing of their audience, and Obi-Wan realises this revelation means nothing. He doesn’t even know the man and he’s a goddamn _Clanker_ in the way of him saving his family. He just really hopes Cody doesn’t know him.

The man, ever the first to attack, is thrown off by Obi-Wan’s punch as he switches both his tactics and fighting style. He knows, now, the man’s potential and does as he’s been taught to; he evolves his fighting style as he moves, constantly throwing off expectations and making any defence against him nothing more than self-preservation. The man has no chance to oppose him, not now Obi-Wan has a basic grasp of his training and has built a profile against him. Besides a lucky punch against Obi-Wan’s sore shoulder, the man is unable to break past Obi-Wan’s barrage of blows.

There are some fights that elicit a kind of joy, but this is not one. There’s no satisfaction on his end, this is an evil means to an end and nothing more. He ignores the throb in his shoulder and focuses on the panic Ahsoka must be experiencing in her captivity, and the simmering anger Anakin has yet to learn to rein in as he resists all attempts to subdue him. He also ignores the way the Clanker’s reluctance morphs into a real desperation at the change in the fight’s dynamic.

When his nose explodes at the end of Obi-Wan’s elbow, blood sprays everywhere. _Again_. And Obi-Wan steps backwards to create distance between them, weary and refusing to drop his stance. But the man doesn’t make a move towards him, apparently willing to concede his loss. Unwanted guilt blooms, but he boxes it away as a present for later.

There’s a slow clap from the stairs above them that doesn’t come from the Lady.

“Congratulations,” a spine-chillingly familiar voice intones. “Where did you find this one Ventress?”

“He came to us, my Lord.”

Obi-Wan’s entire body freezes in an encompassing terror of discovery. He _knows_ that voice. And now he also knows the piece of information he was missing earlier; it’s not just anyone who chooses to fight with a blade, and the Lady – _Ventress_ – is clearly not wearing them for the aesthetic. Which is very, _very_ bad news for him.

A curse, one of Cody’s favourites (and he blames the slip on the stress of the last few days) falls off his tongue quietly, some choice words of Mando’a. The Fett-Secura-Clanker is close enough to hear and his head flicks in Obi-Wan’s direction in ill-concealed surprise. Definitely Mandalorian then. Obi-Wan wonders which clan, but he figures now is not the time to ask.

He’s too busy focusing on _not_ giving himself away.

“Is that so?” Dooku asks as he descends the stairs.

Evidently, he hasn’t recognised Obi-Wan yet, but it’s only a matter of moments and then everything really will go to hell. Of all of the places he’d expected to find a foreign count, it was not here. Not in an ill-drained swamp on the edge of Coruscant in a town he can’t even name. And this isn’t just any count, this is Count _Dooku_. Despite the Academy’s best efforts, they couldn’t nurture the aristocrat out of him and Obi-Wan would have assumed he wouldn’t been seen dead wasting his time here. Evidently, he was wrong.

His fingers itch to comb through his hair, but he keeps his hands steadfastly by his side, wishing for his knife. A flare of anger at Dooku’s audacity to show up now and make everything impossibly worse surprises him, and he tucks it into an isolated part of his mind to examine later, so it can’t infect his judgement.

He’s going to have so much to unpack if he survives this.

Dooku stops in front of Obi-Wan and looks at him appraisingly, his face giving away nothing. Obi-Wan’s mind chants _bad, so bad, this is so karking bad_ in an endless repeat as he waits for recognition to flit across the Count’s face and an order for him to be frogmarched into a cell, never to see the light of day again.

Outwardly, he gives no indication of his panic – that would be _unprofessional_ – and it gives him the time to do his own appraising. The Count looks much the same as he did the last time Obi-Wan saw him, behind the left shoulder of a Separatist warlord during a territory re-renegotiation, if slightly older. The grey in his hair has finally won out over the black, dominating all but a few streaks in his beard. It seems the last five years have been kind.

“And who might you be?”

In a way they apparently haven’t been to Obi-Wan. The recognition never comes, instead Dooku looks at him with mild curiosity. He supposes his hair is a bit longer than the last time they met, no-longer in it’s regulation cut, but allowed to grow out a few inches, and he has his own grey now around his temples (far, far too soon, but what did he reasonably expect? Stress is one hell of an aging agent). Starvation rations this past year have changed his face shape, and his body shape too if he’s being honest. Perhaps he really doesn’t look anything like General Kenobi, not when most of their interactions had been across the distance of negotiating tables and battlefields. Maybe there’s just enough plausible deniability for Dooku not to recognise him.

Whatever the reason, he takes it.

“Ben,” he says with a shrug, dropping his Core accent and adopting something rougher ( _and more like Cody’s_ , his subconscious supplies, _because you know it so well_ ).

“Well, _Ben_ , we could certainly use a fighter like you. Have you had much experience?”

The kark he has, and what’s more they both know it’s rhetorical. Dooku _has_ just watched him fight.

“A little.”

“Well,” Dooku turns to Ventress, “something has been worked out I assume?”

“We captured his kin and he wants to replace one of them.”

“Ah,” Dooku almost manages sound _disappointed_ , the implication that he should simply _want_ to work for them hangs in the air unsaid. “A pity. Voluntary tributes are so much more… _effective_.” He eyes the Clanker Obi-Wan fought pointedly.

There’s definitely a story there. The Clanker is clutching his nose but says nothing, despite the pain he must be in. He seems to be baring it as a fact of life.

“Well then, let’s make the swap before it gets too late.” Dooku speaks with an accent flecked with authority, and it’s clear very little has changes, apocalypse or no.

Ventress steps forward. “He wishes to leave and find a suitable replacement for his other kin.”

“How disappointing.” The Count’s face twists unhappily and he pauses for a moment as if to think. “I suppose we must escort him to the gate then.”

The sinking feeling doesn’t go away. Of course, they aren’t going to let him just _walk away_. He’s been inside their compound now, he knows too much. He knows they’re _SITH_. He knows everything is far, far more complicated than he could have ever predicted. And shouldn’t he have known that just because it’s an inherent virtue of his life?

His rifle is thrust back into his hands with his knife, and it’s only Anakin and Ahsoka’s fate that stops him from firing on Dooku. That and the echo of his own voice berating Anakin’s unthinking brashness. He allows himself to be guided back towards the gate, Dooku and Ventress trailing behind. Tension hangs thick in the air, and he can tell this isn’t going to end well.

“We’ll give you a two-minute head start,” Dooku offers, “before we follow. If you can evade us, then you may be allowed to return with another replacement for your kin.” The _if not_ goes unspoken.

It’s like this whole thing is a kind of perverse game for him. Which, of course, it is.

Obi-Wan doesn’t need to be told twice, the gate is opened and he _runs_. He can hear the laughter behind him, until he can’t because he’s too far away and he doesn’t dare turn back, so he keeps running. The little park is slightly further away than where he left it, and it seems to take forever for him to reach it again. He skids to a halt by the tree because there’s no sign of Cody – he hopes Cody read the mood and took the hint it’s time for them to go – and he switches off the safety on the rifle as he swings the sling over his head.

Time _must_ be up.

Feet thunder in the subway and he traces them until the sound reveals itself to be Cody.

“What the _fuck_?”

“No time,” Obi-Wan answers, “we need to leave _now_.”

Cody nods and throws his bag over, for which he is grateful. Obi-Wan shoulders it, already moving towards the alley way at the end of the park. They make it about three meters past the mouth before a set of side doors burst open, and a hand reaches out, yanking Obi-Wan by the cuff of his sleeve. He can hear the sound of Cody’s safety disengaging just as the voice attached to the hand shouts.

“Friend!”

Obi-Wan still finds himself dragged sideways awkwardly inside the building, into the darkness, but then the hand lets go and Cody never fires.

“Some friend,” Cody snarls over Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he staggers to remain standing.

The person raises their hands above their head, just beyond the light of the open door, obscured by shadow.

“I am,” they insist and Obi-Wan thinks it sounds feminine. “You can take your chances out there, with them, or in here, with me. I saw _everything_.”

She rolls her _R_ s and Obi-Wan has vivid _déjà vu_ because he knows that voice too. It’s like one big, kriffing family reunion. An apocalypse-tainted, royally karked family reunion, one that’s far too tainted by bitterness and betrayal to ever mean anything but further pain. Force, he just wants a break.

“Secura?”

“Aayla?”

Obi-Wan’s head swivels towards Cody. “You know each other?”

“I was Bly’s best man at their wedding last year,” Cody mumbles distractedly. “My, er, cousin, Don’t think you met.”

Oh Force. He’s put his foot in it again, hasn’t he? That Clanker _had_ been a Fett… or a Secura, whatever. It seems that surname is rare, after all. “Fuck,” he whispers. It doesn’t really help.

“Obi-Wan, Cody,” Secura acknowledges, “we need to get out of here, _now_.”

“After you,” Obi-Wan agrees and she takes off.

Behind them they can hear a cacophony of noise as the Clankers in his pursuit live up to their name. Cody leans out of the building to pull the doors shut with an unavoidable thud. In the darkness they allow for their eyes to meet for a second before they run after Secura.

It’s some kind of office building and several flights of stairs and an open plan office later, they’re on the roof, a trail of built-up dust billowing in their wake. They stop for breath and to bar the doors to the roof shut with a repurposed antenna wrapped around the handles.

“I don’t think they followed us,” Secura manages.

“No,” he agrees.

It’s good to see her well after so long, even if she is paler and thinner than he remembers. She’s _alive_ , even if she is here, in this Force-forsaken swamp. It’s been a long time since he saw a member of his brethren. She must think so too, because she jumps him when nobody bangs on the door from the inside, enveloping him in a brutal hug.

“It’s been a long time,” she says. “I’m glad to see you, old friend.”

Cody watches warily from several paces away. “So how do you two know each other?”

“Oh,” Secura says, as she lets go, “we were part of the JEDI together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chakaar – petty criminal  
> Cuyir morut'yc ad. Olaror norac at ni - stay safe son. Come back to me  
> Vi kelir cuyir jate - we will be fine
> 
> Sorry this chapter is slightly late – this is the first one I hadn’t finished a first draft for before and it was a bit longer than I expected it to be (aren't they always?), and I also got called in for a couple of unexpected shifts that ate into my writing time. Next chapter should be up on Tuesday (28/4/20), no extra shifts permitting!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan, Cody and Aayla decide decide it's high time they explore the highs and lows of the town, and enjoy everything it has to offer. A little bit of sight seeing? Why ever not?

“Of course you were,” Cody sighs, and then back slings his rifle to accept Secura into his arms.

They’re clearly familiar with each other and Obi-Wan wishes he was above the wisps of jealous that appear at the sight.

“It’s good to see you again too,” Secura tells him. “We haven’t seen any family, not since the...”

 _Event_.

If there’s a hint of resigned desperation to her tone, none of them comment on it. Nor her use of _we_ when she’s so obviously alone.

Cody just hugs her tighter and Obi-Wan looks away.

“Buir and my brothers are all here,” Cody tells her, “and I know they’d be relieved to see you. We haven’t seen any family since either. We had hoped no-one else was stuck in Coruscant, but that’s already been proven wrong.” He releases Secura and jerks his head towards Obi-Wan.

“I had wondered…”

Obi-Wan pointedly doesn’t look back, because everyone knows what _happened_ between them apparently, even one of the generals formerly under his command, who by all accounts shouldn’t even have a connection with the Fetts. But she does – she’s achieved what Obi-Wan never had, she’s _married_ one – because that’s _exactly_ what he needed to make his day better. Cody has greeted her as one of his own, as one of the Clan, in a way he pointedly hadn’t greeted Obi-Wan.

The Fett Family NetworkTM is practiced in its efficiency and is well established, stretching around the globe and reaching the off-shoots of Clan Fett anywhere they’ve settled. Undoubtedly, every Fett knows what happened between him and Cody because Fetts _talk_ and that means their loved ones know by extension. That means Secura knows. There’s no such thing as privacy between Fetts, Cody had once told him, and he’s beginning to appreciate just how true that really is.

Kriff his life.

Shouts of hunt-induced elation echo up the walls of the building and he’s not the only one to wince. Cody twitches at the shriek of warping metal that’s a little too close for any of them to truly relax, a reminder they don’t have time on their side.

“It won’t take them too long to figure out where we’ve gone.” This is the Clankers’ territory, after all.

“No,” Secura agrees, and the joy on her face slips back into a more brutal determination. “We should get moving.”

Cody’s eyes rake across their surroundings and Obi-Wan’s follow. Six stories up, there isn’t much besides the carpark that competes for height. Even the slanted roof and marble façade of the town hall are well below them. The skyline is laid out clear before them, the whole of the town sprawled at their feet. He finds himself drawn to the edge, a desire for a better perspective of his prison urging him forwards. A scape of grey and green and brown greet him, and there’s nothing at all remarkable about it. After all of the places he’s seen and the things he’s witnessed, it impresses him with quite how mundane it is.

And there is nowhere for them to go.

Cody voices his concern. “ _Where_?”

She raises an eyebrow at that, and he knows that look. It’s a _challenge_. “Do try to keep up, Cousin. Bly would never forgive me if I left you behind.”

“Where _is_ Bly?”

Obi-Wan swallows, but it’s not him Cody’s asking.

“That,” Secura says, “is a story for a safer place.”

Habitually, Cody turns towards Obi-Wan to share a look of exasperation and Obi-Wan finds he can’t return it. He also can’t keep anything from Cody, not again.

“I saw him,” he blurts out before he can give it due consideration. “I, er, fought him.”

Secura doesn’t seem surprised by that, just sad, and looks past him off the edge, where there’s a birds eye view of the park and townhall down the road. “I saw, and I would like to hear about it, but _later_.”

“ _That_ was Bly?” Cody growls.

Obi-Wan really can’t tell if Cody’s more upset that he fought Bly or that Bly fought him.

“That was Bly,” Secura agrees and there’s something mournful in her voice, but then she’s turning away, not entertaining the conversation a moment longer and Obi-Wan can understand the need to keep moving, to not dwell on what has passed, can appreciate it even. It’s a survival technique, perhaps not one they were taught, but one borne out of necessity that they passed on to each other.

Cody just looks confused and he ruefully thinks that a Fett has never had to face the world alone because they’re always there for each other, no matter where they are. His _vod_ are scattered across the world and wherever he chooses to walk, someone will always have his back. It’s a luxury two ex-JEDI have never had. He and Secura may be family by virtue of experience and upbringing, but it was that upbringing and those experiences that taught them how to walk a path alone because there had been no other choice. The stark reality is that they would have died long ago had that not been the case, and so there isn’t the same interdependence between them, not like there is for the Fetts.

Cody looks into his eyes and seems to frown at whatever he finds there. Obi-Wan really doesn’t want to know.

“ _Secura_?” he asks, instead of voicing a complaint.

“It’s like she’s…” Obi-Wan tries to explain the family dynamic the JEDI experienced in a way that Cody will understand. “It’s like she’s my niece,” he settles for. And it is true, in a way. Quinlan was more his friend than his brother, but he doesn’t really want to broach the semantics of everything now and Cody already knows how complicated everything was- _is_. Describing Quinlan’s Apprentice-Commander as his niece is as close as he’s going to get.

“I don’t call my niece by her surname,” Cody comments wryly.

“You have niece?” That’s new.

“Waxer and Boil adopted a little girl.”

Obi-Wan stills as he processes that. “Boil?”

“Waxer’s beau, you’ve met Waxer. My second cousin, or third? I forget how it works. Their kid, Numa, has them wrapped around her little finger. Not that I can blame them.” Cody grasps the neutral subject with both hands.

“ _Boil_?”

Cody looks at him as if he’s a few marbles short of sane. “Yes? Still won’t tell me his real name, and I’m pretty sure it said Boil on their wedding certificate so that was a dead end.”

There can’t be that many people to go by the name _Boil_ , voluntarily at least. His second, it seems, did not heed his own advice about staying away from the Fett family. After that last mission, Boil had shown up at HQ six days after his return, waiting outside the chambers while Obi-Wan gave his report to the Council – and his resignation. Never say he isn’t efficient. Obi-Wan had been preparing to return home to more hostile animosity and silent resentment, and Boil had ambushed him and laid into him there in the corridor.

And then he’d stopped mid rant. “Someone’s already done this to you, haven’t they?” he’d said.

Obi-Wan had just sighed and nodded. “My partner. Though I’m not sure how much longer he’s going to _be_ my partner for.”

Letting such personal information slip had been embarrassing and unheard of for him, but Boil hadn’t even batted an eyelid. “Commander Fett?”

 _Marshall_ Commander Fett, something that Cody never failed to inform everyone was Obi-Wan’s fault. _(“I’m pretty sure getting me promoted like that is nepotism.” “We’re not married so doesn’t count, and besides, I got you promoted because you’re capable, not because of how good you are in bed. If that were the case-” “Please, stop talking.”)_

Obi-Wan had the good grace to wince. They’d kept their relationship off the radar for the good of both of their careers. Some people, after all, aren’t quite so accepting of them being together. Apparently, they hadn’t been as discreet as they’d thought.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. Nobody looks at each other that way over a mission briefing. _Nobody_.” And then he added “Sir,” a little belatedly, as if he’d just remembered who he’d been shouting at for the past quarter of an hour in the middle of a corridor connecting the information archive to the Council Chambers where it’s _busy_.

Obi-Wan had just raised a tired eyebrow.

“With all due respect, Sir, the Fetts are all notoriously insane and you’d probably be safer away from them anyway.” Obi-Wan had been about to turn away in pained dismissal when Boil stopped him. “But the way you look at each other? I wouldn’t worry, Sir.”

Cody hadn’t been there when he’d got back, and the only thing he’d left behind was a sealed envelope on their kitchen table.

He’d never seen Boil again, either.

Obi-Wan shakes off thoughts of the past and focuses on the _now_ , heeding a lesson he hasn’t in many years. He follows behind Secura, allowing her to take the lead and for Cody to follow behind. He follows as she jumps down off a rise in where the roof juts down and then walks seemingly off the edge of the building without pausing. It’s an old lesson, to trust comrades, that comes back to him as he free falls and then lands on the metal sheet of a fire escape walkway several metres below _. To trust a comrade is the necessity of a soldier_ , General Jinn had told him once, _but it is the necessity of a JEDI to trust their comrade only as far as they know they are capable. We cannot afford to be out of commission because of the failings of another, no matter their training._

He remembers General Secura to be very capable.

“Jetti dinii,” Cody mutters as he lands several seconds and much more cautiously behind. “It took _five minutes_ for you to start Jetti shit.”

Secura just grins and Obi-Wan almost finds himself following suit, then she’s turning her head and the brightness is gone. They run down two flights of stairs, until they’re level with the next building and then she flings herself over the railing and uses her foot to push off from the metal bar, giving herself extra leverage to jump across the gap between the office building and the flat roof of the terrace shops below. She lands in a soundless roll that allows her to finish effortlessly on her feet. Obi-Wan follows suit, clutching his rifle in a way that doesn’t restrict his movement.

Cody forgoes the roll, and simply bends his knees upon landing, giving them both a dirty look that informs them their nonsense will be getting passed onto what’s left of the Clan Network – his brothers.

They’re much closer to the ground here, only three stories up, and it’s not enough to see if the way is clear ahead. The screech of tires can be heard semi-distantly, and the noises of a hunt surround them, bringing back memories he does _not_ want to think about and so purposefully _doesn’t_.

Secura pauses and drops to a crouch beneath the metal vent of an air conditioning unit. Obi-Wan and Cody follow suit.

“Usually,” she tells them, “I come down over there.” She points to the far end of the roof. “But I think that might be dangerous, given the circumstances.” As if to accent her point, one of the modified Clanker vans tears around the corner and down the street below.

“I take it negotiations weren’t a success?” Cody asks him dryly.

“On the contrary,” Obi-Wan replies, “they went about as well as could be expected.”

“Oh?”

“Should it come to it, I can trade my life for Ahsoka’s.”

“Sounds fun.” Cody mutters. “And Anakin?”

“Unless someone else is willing to take his place, we get to spend the apocalypse with the Clankers.” He looks over to Secura. “And the SITH.”

Her entire body freezes and she pins him with a questioning stare. He shakes his head minutely, because now is not the time to get into that, but she needs to know it’s coming. They all do, because where there’s the SITH, well, destruction of everything he loves has historically followed.

Cody looks between them, but seems to pick up that now is not the time to ask. Instead he asks carefully, “and where would Ahsoka go if she were alone?”

Obi-Wan blinks. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t let her be alone.”

Understanding passes between them, and Cody is the first to look away. Ahsoka would be taken in by the Fetts, allowed to become one if she desired, an honour she should have been graced with years ago.

“It won’t come to that,” Obi-Wan tells them firmly, but it’s mostly directed at himself. “That’s a last resort.” They _will_ all be together again.

“It is,” Secura tells him, “because we are not giving you over to the _SITH_.” She spits the word as if it’s the worst curse she can conceive, and Cody raises a questioning eyebrow.

A whoop of vindictive delight postpones that particular conversation.

“They’re too close,” Secura says, “we need to find another way to leave.” She pauses. “I assume you have a safe place somewhere. Mine… mine was compromised and I’ve been on the move a lot.”

Cody is wise enough not to ask and nods. “We need to get to the river.”

Secura looks thoughtful for a moment. “The sewers are good for that.”

Both of them look at her.

“I’ve been on the move a _lot_ , trust me. If we stick to the main channels, we’ll be fine.”

All that come to mind when he thinks of the sewers are the unnatural red eyes of last night’s dinner and hundreds of their friends clattering through the pipes.

“We’ll follow you then,” Cody agrees, though if his reluctance is anything to go by, he has his own reservations.

Secura wastes no time in trying to lever off the grid over the metal air conditioning vent and when Obi-Wan realises what she’s attempting to do, he uses his knife to help in place of her fingers. Cody gives the vent a critical eye once they’ve got it open; the space is small, no larger than the width of his shoulders at a stretch. Obi-Wan offers to go first, shoving his head into the gap to see how far the drop is. It’s not too bad, only a few feet before the vent becomes horizontal, but it’ll be a tight fit for him, let alone Cody, and while it _is_ manageable, it’s not going to be a particularly pleasant experience for any of them.

He passes his rifle to Cody and drops his bag down, before lowering himself feet first. He’s not quite tall enough to reach the bottom and has to drop with a thud that his boots can’t soften. His rifle is passed down to him and there’s a few moments of awkward shuffling as he rolls onto his belly with his weapon cradled in his arms and backpack slung over one shoulder. Crawling through the air vent brings back memories of infiltrating (and then escaping) that base on Concord Dawn back when he was just a commander. Admittedly, this time there’s less noxious gas filtering through his crawl space.

“Alright down there?” Cody’s gruff voice vibrates all around him, the quality tinny.

“Yes-” his presumption is cut short at the vent emits a low, drawn out groan and he stills in fear of prompting whatever caused it.

Then one of the panels comes away and the section he’s in drops a few feet as they separate, lurching forward and tipping him out into the room below. He lands badly on his shoulder and the muscles cramp in protest at the continued and drawn out abuse, a reminder he’s not as young as he’d like to think. There’s the sharp sound of something snapping as it gives way beneath him. Air is forced out of his lungs because he was denied a proper landing, and his rifle punches a bruise into the flesh of his stomach, just as the floor does to his face.

He groans.

“I think he’s alive.” Cody’s voice tells no-one in particular.

Cautiously, he pushes himself to his knees, checking himself over. Besides additions to his collection of grazes and minor cuts, he doesn’t think there’s any more permanent damage. The snapping turns out to be the already broken back of a chair he’s splintered and not a bone, for which he’s thankful. That’s not the sort of thing to heal easily out here.

“I am,” he agrees, mostly to himself as he gets to his feet and looks around.

The room seems to be some sort of computer hub, packed with monitors and processing units. None of them hold any life and the bank of blank screens reflect back the blur of his wild hair and dirty face. He tries to brush it down with his fingers, but has little success.

“You can come down, it’s safe,” he calls back up the vent.

This place appears to have been abandoned for a while. Dust hangs heavy in the air, and the smell of vermin and wet fur is almost cloying. Piles of droppings line the walls and some of the exposed cables have been chewed through half-heartedly by gnawing teeth. But rats or mice, or whatever may infest the building don’t pose a threat to them. At best they’re a food source they don’t really have the time to lay traps for, and at worst they’ll spread a disease none of them plan to stick around to catch.

Secura drops much more elegantly to the floor next to him, sliding down the vent like it’s a ramp. “What was all the fuss about?” she asks innocently.

“I had envisaged having to crawl a little further.”

Cody’s entrance is effective, if not overly graceful and he shakes himself as if to rid himself of the confines of a small space. He sucks at the side of his palm where he’s sliced it open on the edge of the metal, but says nothing about it and when Obi-Wan catches his eye to ask if he’s fine, he shakes his head and looks pointedly at the door.

“Let’s hope this leads somewhere helpful.”

They give the floor a cursory sweep but find nothing useful. Signs of the Clankers’ work is everywhere, from the smashed glass to the empty cupboards and drawers. This close to their stronghold, it’s not a surprise, but it is a pressing reminder of just how much manpower their enemy holds and how little they have in comparison. From what the Fetts have seen, pockets of people do exist, in isolation of each other and usually no more than a handful together, hesitant of approaching anyone else. Usually, they’re on the outskirts of town, smart enough to try and avoid conflict, but desperate enough to stay. The next town is too far away for anyone to make without supplies it seems. The miles and miles of barren desert that none of them have been prepared to face keep them here and if Obi-Wan could explain how exactly, he’d say that was _deliberate_.

There is a basement and they decide that’s probably the best place to start looking for a sewer entrance. From the rows and rows of dead plants on tables under long strip lights, surrounded by sprinklers and an interesting décor of silver foil, Obi-Wan would hazard a guess that the shop may – or may not – have been a front for something larger.

Cody laughs at the sight. “Rex would’ve lost his _shit_ if he were here.”

“Oh?” Secura asks.

Cody grins. “Personal vendetta.”

There isn’t anything obvious that might help them, and there’s nothing sewer-like but it’s not like they’ve got anywhere else they can go. The street and roads above certainly aren’t an option and they don’t particularly want to hang around and wait to be found. Frustrated, Cody sits on the bottom step of the stairs and Secura joins him. Obi-Wan, meanwhile, walks around the room, tapping on the wall. They give him odd looks, but he ignores them.

“This isn’t how I thought any of this was going to go,” Secura sighs, cradling her head in her hands.

“You’re not alone in that,” Cody huffs. The look he sends Obi-Wan’s way _sears_ and it’s clear their thoughts are beyond their current situation. Obi-Wan looks back to the wall.

“None of us did,” Obi-Wan says quietly.

Silence sounds different underground. There’s the deadened quality to the noises drifting from above and nothing at all around them besides that which they create. It’s unnerving to feel so isolated from other life. They’re surrounded by earth, on three sides at least by Obi-Wan’s reckoning, and it allows nothing through. Their voices are almost a welcome intrusion.

The insistent drips of water from the irrigation system pool on the floor with nowhere to go, and Obi-Wan sidesteps it as he moves. His insistent tapping is terribly loud and Cody flashes him an irritated look, but doesn’t seem to be looking for a fight. A part of him likes to think he and Cody have worked together enough for Cody to trust that he’s doing something _productive_. He wouldn’t go as far as to say he’s sure that certainty has survived time, though.

“So what’s the deal with you two anyway?” Secura asks, and it’s clear she’s trying to change the pace of the conversation away from something that borders on contemplation. “I thought things were pretty black and white?”

“They _are_ ,” Cody stresses.

Obi-Wan’s chest clenches uncomfortably, and he resists the urge to press his hand against his sternum because the pain isn’t real and it won’t help (except it seems real, and maybe that’s enough to make it so, in the ways that count). “Nothing is ever black and white,” he corrects, not pausing in his progress.

In his peripheral sight, he can see the way Cody turns to focus on him with an inscrutable expression.

“Some things are. Or, at least, they should be.”

His jaw twitches and he tries to not to focus on the way that cuts. Because he failed at the most basic of things; he failed to be what was needed and in doing so he failed Cody. It was his fault things weren’t black and white between them, but murky shades of grey. He’s thinks he’s right that nothing is ever clear, but then he’s not an idealist, perhaps they _should_ be.

Secura crosses on leg over the other and shifts uncomfortably at the tension she’s inadvertently created.

Cody takes pity on her. “We’re just helping each other out.”

The walls are damp and covered in that shiny foil, but it doesn’t really impede his examination. Just makes it more unpleasant. His foot moves a crate he can barely see in the light that spills down from upstairs and there’s an indignant squawk from a small rodent that runs into the shadows.

“They have his brother and his daughter, and we’ve agreed to help get them back.”

“You have a daughter?” Secura asks him curiously. “That’s nice.”

Obi-Wan smiles tightly at her. Ahsoka is a blessing, of course she is, but the worry over her wellbeing during every waking moment (and even in his sleep, in his night terrors) is the parent’s curse.

“Good,” she corrects herself, “that’s _good_. I was worried about you, what with the way you left. We all were.” She pushes when he doesn’t say anything. “Ahsoka, wasn’t it? I remember Anakin, but not an Ahsoka.”

“Yes,” he finally replies, voice too soft, bordering on vulnerability. His hand drifts to the pocket with her silka beads and he finds himself drawing them out to run through his fingers. “Ahsoka.”

“You left?” Cody asks, confusion etched across what Obi-Wan can see of his face. The light washes down on his back from the top of the steps, shrouding it in darkness. “Why did you leave?”

Secura looks between them with disbelief on her face and Obi-Wan concedes to her that there may have been an error in communication when everything went to shit between them. An awful lot of it, at that time, as it happens. They weren’t exactly _talking_.

“Why do you think Cody?” he says softly, before shaking his head and tucking the beads away safely.

“It was your whole life.”

“Not my _whole_ life,” he replies.

Cody doesn’t say anything to that and the quiet stretches on unforgivingly.

Secura fills in for him. “The fallout with the Council was _spectacular_. I’ve never seen a body of omnipotent beings look so distressed before and the _bickering_ , that was something else. You’d have thought we couldn’t carry on without you”

“We weren’t omnipotent beings,” he tells her, sad that some thought of them so, “we had our problems, but we did try and we were more than aware of our fallibilities. And,” he adds somewhat ruefully, “no-one is irreplaceable in an army. That’s part of why they function so well.”

No-one is irreplaceable and no one can be held unaccountable, least of all a member of the Council. Least of all _him_. The burn of every failure and the consequences they led to are forever ingrained in his memory, a part of him, lessons that came at too high a price. He, the Council, were most certainly not omnipotent. Nor were they omniscient. They were _just human_ and they and others died because of it.

The JEDI made mistakes and then they learned, and then they made more mistakes because so much was asked of them. Every government in the Republic had issues it wanted JEDI to resolve for them, demanding that every war and conflict and peacekeeping mission had the oversight of one of the revered. But there was only so much they could do. They were, after all, only human. Obi-Wan hadn’t even realised one of his biggest failures until he’d left; he’d given everything he was and in the end he’d given too much, given himself up and in doing so betrayed all of those around him in a way that was unforgivable. Cody is a living reminder of that.

“You know,” she considers, “I don’t even think it occurred to most they could leave until you did. There was a kind of cascade after that and we never really recovered. We were raised from birth to believe what we were doing was right, and the training the Academy gave us and their insistence we join up with the JEDI once we left? It was something none of us ever considered disputing.”

The Academy – the home they were raised in as orphans or outcasts or rejects – had not been everything it seemed. And what it had seemed to be was formidable enough. They were taught how to fight and lead and infiltrate from the time they could walk, instilled with the kind of discipline no childhood should ever have to suffer through, in the name of peace on behalf of others. They learned a dozen languages, were taught diplomacy and navigation and mechanics and a hundred other skills that might be needed for a potential JEDI. And then, when they left at the age of eighteen, they joined the JEDI and continued their training as a commander under a general, in an apprenticeship of sorts. Some, like Obi-Wan, had chosen to study alongside their training and his choice of subject had been ridiculed not only be his own general, but even his close friends.

Because what use was English literature on a battlefield?

To say the JEDI were elite officers would be an injustice. They were quite simply the _best_ , it had been indisputable, they had been on an entirely different level to the rest of the army and that was down to the rigorous education the Academy put them through.

The Academy had been a preparatory school for those who were to join the JEDI. It was the _only_ way to join the JEDI. No matter what the public were told, you couldn’t join without having passed through the Academy first, because the Academy and the JEDI were one and the same; the JEDI chose the candidates they thought best suited for their ranks and raised them within their discipline, taking children from other homes and half-way houses and moulding them into soldiers from the time they could talk.

And those that didn’t make the cut were sent off to the service corps, to act as support and logistics, because the army didn’t do waste. It wasn’t _efficient_. His interference on Anakin and Ahsoka’s behalf had cost him more than he cared to admit; his Council seat and his credibility had both suffered (it had also cost him _Cody_ ), but he couldn’t let the system swallow them, not if he could stop it. He cared too much, and that was a failing the JEDI couldn’t forgive him for.

Obi-Wan, as a member of the Council had been complicit in all of it, until he _wasn’t_ anymore. He hadn’t seen the issue at the time because, theoretically, anyone could leave if they chose to. Most didn’t though, not until he had, either dying in service, or providing support to the system in some capacity until they died from age. Because leaving hadn’t been presented as an option. They were _JEDI_.

It had only been with the hindsight of his last mission, when they asked him to do something that was _too_ _much_ and he had _done_ it, had he realised the problem. They were still a branch of government agency and in being so were under the control of the whims of the Senate. And if the Senate asked too much of their army, then the JEDI had to comply with their authority. And their authority didn’t always lead to the right thing being done. Which meant the JEDI were being corrupted, not necessarily through fault of their own, but they were being used for things that were _wrong_ anyway.

And he couldn’t go along with it anymore, not with the pain it caused everyone he loved, not with the scars it left on the world. The SITH were evil, he believed that, and they did need to be defeated, and Obi-Wan could even understand why the cold war was happening, but it had cost him _Cody_. And both of them had understood their duty and had respected each other’s commitment to it. But what Obi-Wan had done had been too much even for Cody and that had been enough for him to really stop and question. The JEDI were children, raised by the government for war. And he didn’t appreciate how truly abhorrent that was until he was on the outside looking in.

Not that he voices any of that now. For those revelations to come to light, even with the JEDI being no more, would crush anyone who’d been through the system’s deception and right now they need to focus. Dwelling on past grievances is not going to save them.

“It didn’t use to be like that,” he tells her instead, “not until Geonosis the first time around. Everyone used to be less _afraid_.”

It’s true. His bitter remembrance of the JEDI stems, mostly, from Geonosis. That’s when things had gone from bad to worse, from questionable to wrong. Maybe once, the JEDI _were_ used for good. But they were hindered by the very body they were supposed to serve, and war had only exacerbated that wound.

And _all_ of them remember Geonosis. The fine dust that would explode at the most subtle of touches, reaching out to clutch at anything and everything from the back of their throats to the delicate machinery inside the armour of tanks and comms. And the sun that could scorch the skin off an unprepared soldier faster than it could evaporate the pools of blood still congealing in the arena.

Geonosis had changed everything from the Senate to the JEDI far more detrimentally than anyone could have ever anticipated. The paranoia that was borne from the utter lack of preparation they had had and the sheer volume of the death count that followed, set the tone for the rest of the cold war that had stretched on to the last days of the apocalypse. It had taken hoards of the dead to supersede the Republic mistrust of the Separatist Council, and then that had only been because there weren’t enough of either body left to continue hostilities. The same can be said of the JEDI mistrust of the SITH.

Obi-Wan had joined the Council during a time of war, after Geonosis, and he has no doubt he saw the worst of the JEDI because of it. He’s also saw the last days of the JEDI and the SITH, the end of the Republic and the Separatists, and the breakup of himself and Cody. He’s witnessed _the end of the world_ and come out breathing on the other side.

But his faith has been shaken because of it.

And yet, both the SITH and the JEDI are represented here and now in this insignificant town on the edge of Coruscant, and if the SITH are really behind the control of the Clankers, then they’re up to their usual schemes and that spells more disaster than any of them had previously considered. It’s a microcosm of what the world used to look like, and it could very easily lead to a repeat of history, on a smaller scale, but no less important or personal for it. More so perhaps.

And yet, Obi-Wan has a purpose again, a family he must save and an evil force he must help stop. Because, no matter what, he was raised as a JEDI and he has a duty against the SITH that he refuses to let people suffer for on his behalf.

“Geonosis,” Cody hesitates on the name, as if he finds it difficult to swallow. “The _JEDI problem_ you had there, and everywhere after, that was this SITH, wasn’t it?”

Secura’s eyes flick up to his. There’s the ingrained instinct to deny the existence of the SITH to a non-JEDI, because they _had_ been in a cold war for years. The paranoia that came of being a special-forces-turned-secret-service doesn’t go away easily. The SITH had been the best kept secret of the JEDI, just as the JEDI had been for the SITH. On the surface, it had been a war of wills between the Republic and the Separatists. Below the surface, that war had been fought by spies and Shadows and soldiers under the command of JEDI generals against their SITH counterparts. Soldiers like Cody, who were kept in the dark about one of the enemies they were fighting. All of the at the beck and call of their respective governments.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says simply, because he’s not sure he could keep that secret from Cody now, even if it were still necessary.

If Cody feels betrayed at being kept in the dark for so long, he doesn’t show it. “I had wondered.”

Obi-Wan turns back to his task, probing the wall. “It wasn’t vindictive to keep you in the dark,” he feels the need to defend, “it was a necessity of the situation. The more people who knew about the SITH, the more people there were in danger. They were our counterpart, so they were _our_ problem.”

“I couldn’t possibly understand a JEDI problem, Sir,” Cody says without emotion. And, _oh_ , Obi-Wan was wrong, Cody shows his betrayal by _not_ showing it.

There’s none of the teasing Cody used to submit his rank to, just bitter reflections of past wrongs. And it hurts, because Cody has every right to be angry. He’s always been more than capable and to keep him uninformed is nothing short of insulting. He’s was a _Marshall Commander_ for karks sake, _Obi-Wan_ is insulted on his behalf.

So he doesn’t defend himself or the JEDI further, instead he holds his tongue and continues to tap on the wall, like he’s confirming to Cody he’s lost what’s left of his mind.

There’s a hollow thud instead of the dullness of brick. “ _Here_ ,” he says, emphatically.

“Here what?” Secura stands and sidles up to him. “What are you _doing_?”

He works out the dimensions of the partition they have to work with, sounding out the threshold. He recons they have half a metre wide and two metres high, roughly the size of a door, leading to the next cellar along. He reaches up to tear the foil off the stretch of wall.

“This building was built to be shops,” he explains, “which means it was built in _units_.”

She looks at him nonplussed. “And?”

“ _And_ , that means that means if a shop owner bought two units to expand a shop space, they’d want to be able to connect the storage in the basements, so a door would have been added in as a precaution when the whole thing was built. Better for profits. Obviously, this shop was a single unit so the doorway has been boarded over, but it’s still there.”

“It’s much easier to break through board than brick,” Cody finished for him, standing too and looking slightly impressed (and that doesn’t make him smug in the slightest).

“If I’d have to guess, I’d say the sewer entrance is most likely to be built in the middle-most unit,” he adds.

They can get there without ever having to venture onto the street above. Or so he hopes.

Cody has always had more brute strength than Obi-Wan, for all they are similar in height. Cody’s muscle is bulky and worked on, where Obi-Wan’s is wiry and mostly a by-product of the demand of the job he was raised to do. Which means that when Cody shifts him to one side, Obi-Wan lets him and watches as he brings his foot down on the marked-out area in the same way he’d kick down a door.

There’s a wet creek under the first assault and the explosion of damp and ill-kept wood under the second. Chunks of wet plaster fall away to reveal chipboard underneath that is no match for Cody’s boot, and it gives with little more persuasion.

The cellar beyond is dark and Obi-Wan goes to fish for his torch before he remembers its fate and waits for Cody to find his. Secura produces one too, but then if she’s been spending lots of time in the sewers recently, that’s no surprise.

Cody ventures through the gap first and Obi-Wan brings up the rear. The cellar is completely empty besides long strands of cobwebs and spider’s silk. No dead, no Clankers. The walls are unplastered and the door opposite isn’t boarded over at all. Still, they walk through cautiously because all of them have far too much experience to rush around blind corners. The next room is empty too, and it’s clear this used to be the storage space for one big shop.

“There,” Secura points with her torch to a manhole cover not dissimilar to the one over the Fett’s residence.

It’s rusty with disuse and covered in no small amount of grime, but Obi-Wan bites back a grimace as the other two hold their torches so he can get a better look at what he’s doing. He struggles to pry the cover free with his fingers and the metal _bites_ , so he uses the sharp edge of his knife to nick at the worst of the rust, and tries again. This time, with a bit more coxing and using his knife as a leaver he managed to get it open with an unwanted squeal of protest and drops the cover to one side.

Cody leans over the opening while Secura uses her own light to cover their backs, ever pre-emptive of an attack. He shines his light down onto the tiles several metres below, looking up and down the tunnel.

“I think the way is clear.”

“It’s not this part of town you have to worry about,” Secura murmurs, unwilling to speak too loudly against the harshness of the dark. “The Clankers have this part of the town under control, mostly.”

“They use the sewers too?” Obi-Wan asks concerned.

“Sometimes.”

Well, that doesn’t exactly fill him with confidence. But apparently doesn’t faze Cody, who gives the hole a considering look, before crouching down and _jumping_.

Secura smirks and mutters fondly. “ _Fetts_.”

“Speaking of Fetts,” he says, because he’s been surrounded by them for _days_ and even Secura is one now, “Bly?”

She grins. “My one and only.”

But there’s something vulnerable in that expression and it puzzles him.

“All clear down here,” Cody interrupts.

“Acknowledged,” Obi-Wan replies automatically and Secura’s insecurities vanish as she rolls her eyes.

“You first,” she says, and he obliges.

The sewer is nothing like he’d pictured it’d be. Not that he makes a habit of picturing sewers. Where he expected cold, there’s a warm draught of air that pulses along the tunnel, and he’s not sure that’s any better. Where he expects the smell to be overpowering, all he gets is the slightly ingrained waft of mould and rats, but there’s no running water or sewage to meet his expectations. Instead the tunnel is dry, brown and stained where the water level used to be, but dry nonetheless.

A narrow ledge sticks out from the wall just under the entrance but goes no further, giving way to the long, low tunnel of the sewer. Were everything working perfectly, anyone wishing to transverse the sewers would be waist deep in sludge and slurry and he allows a begrudging thanks to the galaxy for small mercies.

Secura drops lightly down next to him, while Cody scans the length of the tunnel with mistrust.

“Which way now?” he asks her.

She looks left and then right, weighing each with equal measure. “Right,” she says decisively and Obi-Wan is rarely so sure someone’s bullshitting.

He follows anyway, because he doesn’t have a better suggestion and is surprised when Cody falls into step with him as they trail behind Secura. They all walk in silence for a while and there’s no diverging tunnels from their route, only small joining pipes, so it’s not as if they have any decisions to make. Periodically, Cody flashes the light behind them, and the reminder that anything could lurk in the dark does little to set Obi-Wan at ease.

Then again, neither does having Cody next to him, but for _completely_ different reasons.

Even just having him companionably close is reassuring, and despite everything between them, he’s glad Cody is here. A familiar, calming, _capable_ presence in the midst of the shit the galaxy is so insistent it throws at them.

Time hasn’t managed to sink its claws into him yet; there’s no crows eyes, or age lines and there’s no grey in his hair (but then, Obi-Wan figures, he shouldn’t have any either and he’s the _older_ one). He still holds himself with the same quiet confidence that has proven itself over and over in any situation that’s been thrown his way. Cody is a constant, always has been and always will be, it’s in his nature. The fact that he isn’t Obi-Wan’s constant is… is something that he’s still working through, in light of the recent revelation that he hadn’t done that as well before as he thought he had.

But the fact remains that Cody is one of the few people he’d wish to be trapped in an apocalyptic dystopia with, one of the few people he trusts enough to have his back and one of the few people who’s company he genuinely enjoys, even if it’s just companionable silence. And one sided.

It’s then that Obi-Wan realises he’s still irrevocably and hopeless in love with Cody.

 _Fuck_.

He must react visibly because Cody’s head turns questioningly towards him and he replies with a panicked shake of his head. He can’t have that revelation now. Not now and not _ever_. He and Cody are done, they _hurt_ each other in ways that clearly can’t be mended – they were dedicated enough to have done that if it could have been done. They’re done, they’ve _been_ done for years. For Obi-Wan to have feelings now is going to do nothing but cause them pain.

Cody’s been politely but firmly distant with him, entirely _professional_ , and like a karking idiot his heart has jumped – no leapt – the distance between them, trying to fruitlessly bridge the abyss. It’s not fair to either of them, they have other responsibilities now that don’t involve each other. He has his _family_ to save (and the traitorous part of him that insists Cody is his family _cannot_ be trusted).

Secura stops and he’s saved from a self-depreciating spiral by the junction before them. They have three options, left, right and forwards. Obi-Wan’s doesn’t completely trust his sense of direction down here, in the dark, but he _thinks_ they should be heading leftish if they want to meet the river. Secura steps forwards to examine the inscription on the metal plaque on the opposite wall.

“Those mean anything to you?” Cody asks, flashing his torch up and down each of their options in turn.

She scrunches her nose in concentration. “Maybe.”

Cody doesn’t even huff the way he would if it were Obi-Wan (in disdain) or Rex (in teasing), allowing her to do her thing unhindered. Obi-Wan’s still trying to figure out their dynamic, but there is an easy comfort that seems to radiate between them.

Obi-Wan looks away down the tunnel to the left. It stretches on into the abyss and it could contain anything. He takes a cautious step forward, ignoring Cody’s look of judgement. He doesn’t know if it’s his own overactive paranoia-fuelled imagination, but he’s sure he can _hear_ something. A tapping like the spindly legs of the crabs on the concrete floor of the maintenance bunker they had for dinner. A tapping that, should they be far away enough, is insistent enough to be _pounding_.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickle in warning.

“I think you’re right, we go left,” he hears Secura say, but he’s already backing up.

He’s never been one to ignore his instincts.

“I think we _run_ ,” he says as he backs past them and turns, assessing which of the other two ways looks less formidable.

“What?” Cody asks, but Secura takes one look at Obi-Wan’s face and holds up a hand to quiet him as the other settles on the wall of the left tunnel to _feel_ and she closes her eyes. Cody knows better than to protest.

Her eyes fly open. “Someone’s coming. _Many_ someones.”

They all strain to listen, and the sound is getting louder, more insistent. There’s none of the hollow wailing associated with the dead and while the dead are able to move at speed when they want to, they’re never quite so purposeful.

“The Clankers are in the sewers,” he whispers.

 _Straight on_ , Obi-Wan decides, is going to keep them more on target with their destination than right, and he takes off with the jerking lights of the torches following behind. They try to keep their steps light, but they’re running through a disused tile tube and it _echoes_ , both ahead and back the way they’ve come, and if they can hear the Clankers, then surely the Clankers can hear them. How the Clankers knew they were in the sewers is another matter, but it’s not exactly the most pressing one. Speed, Obi-Wan thinks, is needed more than stealth.

The tunnel branches again, and Obi-Wan leads them left, sidestepping an old washed up pile of packing crates and a collection of plastic. Then it branches again and again, and as much as they try to keep track, their sense of direction is lost to the adrenaline-forced need to run, to create distance between themselves and the threat. The threat which they can hear following behind them dangerously close. Then they can hear the frantic barking of dogs and they know they’re being tracked.

No, not tracked, _hunted_.

Once he would have been fit enough to run for hours without stopping (he may have _wanted_ to, but his endurance and commitment meant he was more than capable), but his body has been subjected to prolonged stress and his reserves are not what they once were. Fuel, at the end of the day, is a necessity he can’t negotiate with and his muscles simply don’t have enough of it. They’re beginning to cramp and from the sound of it, his companions aren’t fairing any better. Simply put, they can’t run forever and they can’t outrun the Clankers, not with their advantage and not with their dogs.

But none of them stop, either.

Not until they have to.

Then they emerge in some kind of chamber where several tunnels and pipes converge on one big outflow and there’s suddenly a wide-open space around them that dampens all the echoes from the resounding pipes. _All_ the echoes, even the one ahead of them that emit a low, in-human growl and a scraping of nails over metal. Obi-Wan stops dead and the stock of his rifle is in his shoulder reflexively, Cody seconds behind him. Secura pulls a brace of long, thin knifes from under her jacket and their attention flicks from one opening to the next as the sound is repeated back to them ten-fold. Behind, the sound of the Clankers is suddenly a _distant_ worry.

Water bubbles as it’s disturbed and the shadows flicker as something darker passes through them. There is water here, brought in by several of the pipes to join a deep pool that drains away through the largest pipe down to their left. The smell is more like he expected it to be in a sewer, though the water is suspiciously clean if inky in its blackness.

“Which way?” Secura hisses at him, her torch jumping from one pipe to another, looking for something that is neither grated off or sounds occupied. He doesn’t know why she’s deferring to him now. He doesn’t exactly outrank her anymore.

He doesn’t even pretend to know where the river is now, they’ve been turned around too much for that. Some of the pipes are too high up for them to reach, and others are closed off to them. The rest emit groans and skittering sounds that do nothing for his nerves.

Cody’s light traces a prospective path through the water and Obi-Wan sees a flash of white reflected back at him for a moment, seared into the darkness when Cody moves on. The whites of _eyes_ , unseeing ones. The hand not supporting the weight of his rifle comes up in the hand signal for halt, even though they’ve already stopped, and he directs their attention to the spot in the water. Cody’s light returns to it hesitantly and none of them breathe.

The thing turns its head slowly, almost assessing, though it can’t possibly really _see_ them. The milky ruin of its eyes flicker against the light and it draws back its greying lips into a snarl, revealing the yellow maw underneath. Stings of scraggly black hair stand out against waxy skin, all the more stark for the stretched scar of shredded flesh that extends from one eye to the opposite ear and is clearly the work of another dead.

None of them _breathe_.

It’s terrifying and horrific in equal measure, and one possibility of what they could become stretches out in front while another is close behind on their heels. Obi-Wan lines his sights up between its eyes, a death shot for the dead, but his finger rests unwillingly on the trigger. The second one of them fires absolutely everyone _and_ everything in the vicinity will know where they are. And he doubts this thing is alone.

And if it isn’t, it certainly won’t be for long because it drops its head back and _screams_ in a way that chills all of them to the bone, calling all able teeth to the feast.

Obi-Wan eyes the largest tunnel and its deep waters. Its similar enough to the Fett’s bathing waters that he’s hopeful it’s only waist height. And the water might throw off their scent.

“There’s more of them,” Secura says gravely.

She’s right, they’re appearing from the entrances to the pipes, some crawling quietly, others scampering without fear, circling the original thing with an unexpected patience, waiting for the order to advance. It is, he thinks, as much a misfortune for the incoming Clankers as it is for them.

Then, for the first time in five years, he squeezes the trigger and the thing drops dead.

Cody’s a fraction of a second behind his que, and one of the things behind the original falls just as dead.

Another of them shrieks and that seems to have been whatever the things were waiting for because they surge forwards and Obi-Wan doesn’t need a bigger prompt to move. He dashes into the water, and sinks for several feet, kicking off the bottom once he finds it and pushing his way forwards towards the largest tunnel. Cody and Secura struggle to follow as the dead flock to their fallen comrade, teeth bared and he turns, walking backwards to cover them as they run past.

It’s hard to see his targets when Cody’s torch is clutched in the hand supporting his rifle and Secura’s is darting about widely as she wade-runs as fast as she can, but where there’s movement he shoots as best as he can judge. The recoil from the rifle is nothing more than he remembers it to be and it’s exactly like he never gave up his own, like time hasn’t ravaged his strength or sapped him of his will, as if the rifle isn’t heavier, not only mentally, but physically and his arms aren’t tired. Adrenaline, it seems, is still one hell of a drug.

He can hear splashing, though whether that’s the dead falling or them fighting their way forward he doesn’t know, perhaps it’s both, and then Cody’s turning around – he can tell because the light shifts – and bullets strafe past him in assistance. Obi-Wan backs up as fast as he can while still firing, tracking the unnatural brightness of their eyes and the jerking movements of beings not entirely in control of themselves.

The problem is, if the shots miss then they mean nothing but a waste of bullets because the things don’t feel an iota of pain. Their natural inhabitation against getting injured, is gone. They lack the very self-preservation that guides Obi-Wan now and it makes them difficult to predict. Difficult to kill _when_ he can see them, let alone when he can’t.

And they keep coming and they don’t stop.

He shoots one down and another is already in its place, crawling over the fallen without any sense of danger. They move faster than Obi-Wan can shuffle backwards, and they’re less than five metres away when he realises they’re never going to be able to kill them all before they get overrun and then turned. Cody’s by his side, a foot to his left, his muzzle fire at odds with Obi-Wan’s. But they’re together, like so many other improbably situations they’ve both found themselves in, they’re together until the end. An unspoken agreement they made in a different battle in a different warren, fighting a different enemy a lifetime ago.

Behind them a more human snarl can be heard and he knows Secura is with them too.

When he stops to stand his ground he isn’t alone, and for a man who’s spent most of his life relying only on himself, he’s incredibly grateful. There are much worse ways to die (and he’s seen them, Force knows he has, and this isn’t the first time he’s thought he’s going to die, but it is one of the nicer times).

“Vi ash'amur akaanir,” Cody says, accenting each word with a bullet. He doesn’t yell it, but he doesn’t need to. The conviction with which he speaks is more powerful than shouting could ever be.

_We die fighting._

Cody is Mandalorian and Obi-Wan would be disappointed if he said anything less.

“Sa vod,” Secura agrees and Obi-Wan swallows tightly.

_As brothers._

That is something Obi-Wan has never been to Cody, and he can’t bring himself to echo her words, not even now. Instead he recalls that promise they made – or rather didn’t have to make. “Akay te kyr.”

_Until the end._

In the corner of his vision he can see Secura start at his words. Not _because_ of his words, but because of the language in which he says them. She may be a Mandolarian by marriage and so have a right to it far more than he does, but once he considered himself to be Mandalorian too because he and Cody were married in every way but on paper.

One of the more adventurous dead is poised to spring forward, Obi-Wan can see it in Cody’s light, unheeding of the rifle fire reining in its direction. It leaps towards him and his aim follows it, searching for the spot between the eyes.

And then the thing twists in mid-air, surprised by the interruption.

Of all the things he thought he’d be saved by, the Clankers is not one of them. They come from the same tunnel they did, unleashed dogs tearing onwards into the pack of swarming dead. The Clankers start shooting too, momentarily too preoccupied to notice their quarry further up the larger outflow tunnel.

Obi-Wan shoots the thing before is can touch the water again – it’s not a clean shot, up through the roof of its mouth rather than where he wants it to be, but it is effective – and turns to answer Cody’s sideways glance. Secura is already turning to run and they follow.

Some dead still dog them, but their focus is torn between the few humans that run and the many that don’t, uncaring of the bite of their firepower. It seems they retain the innate human repulsion for extra work. Why chase food when there’s food that presents itself?

Cody and Obi-Wan switch between offering covering fire and running, taking down the few that do follow, until the only splashing that can be heard is their own. Back up the tunnel screams, both human and inhuman, rip through the air. The yelp of pain and abruptly cut off bark make him glad he’s left Threepio at home.

They run and they keep running, panting and then gasping for breath, pushing burning muscles to keep going, keep moving against the resistance of the water and their own lungs. More pipes join theirs, increasing more in use, though it’s clear water that flows, for which he is grateful. There are some advantages to mostly abandoned towns.

It seems like hours, though it can’t be, before the monotony of their surroundings is finally broken by the sight of a ledge and a ladder, leading back up to the surface. They don’t even bother to voice the question. They need to get out of the sewers, even if there are Clankers above, because it turns out there are Clankers below too.

Secura tries the hatch first, her weight the least likely to break the rungs of the ladder. This one has survived better than the one they entered by and she manages to shove it up and to one side, allowing sunlight to flood in. Obi-Wan blinks rapidly, even as Cody keeps their cover the way they’ve come.

“You go first,” Cody tells him and he doesn’t argue because that gets you dead in the field and this is still very much the field.

He’s grateful for the fresh air, because no matter how bad it could have smelt down there, it was still stale and musty and filled with the reek of the dead. Cody is only moments behind him and Obi-Wan offers him an arm to help pull him out. Secura is already shoving the cover back into place before Cody has taken in clean air

“Help me to find something to weigh it down,” she says urgently.

She’s right. The Clankers may have been delayed by the dead, but there had been enough of them that they won’t be far behind and they certainly aren’t lucky enough for them all to be dead.

They’ve come up on the pavement of a main street, the road several lanes wide. The road sign opposite reads East Street and Obi-Wan has approximately no idea where they are. He’d only studied the area of the map he’d thought they’d be using. It’s completely abandoned and it seems they’ve come far enough away from the centre to escape the witch hunt sent after them. The empty roads remind him of the last few days before the riots when everyone was hidden in their homes and the tension of the unknown hung thickly in the air.

They end up wheeling an industrial rubbish bin out from one of the alleyways nearby and tipping it on its side over the manhole cover.

Secura lets out a shaky huff of air and looks around.

“I think I know how to get to the river from here,” she says.

“We’ll follow your lead then,” Cody replies.

Speaking for the both of them now, apparently. Cody is standing next to Obi-Wan, for the first time dropping his professional distance and standing close enough to be considered an _acquaintance_ of Obi-Wan’s. Then again, that’s probably just him forgetting himself for a moment in light of the high he’s coming down from (adrenaline really _is_ one hell of a drug).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dinii – lunatic
> 
> This is affectionately saved to my laptop as Zombies and I thought it high time we actually had some :)
> 
> Should the galaxy comply, the next chapter should be up on Tuesday (5/5/20)!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some idiots sit down and talk

Obi-Wan never thought he’d be so grateful to see a goddamn _bridge_ , but here he is and there it is, and relief seeps into his bones. It’s late, far later than any of them could have anticipated, even with their diversion, and the moon shines bright above their heads, both a blessing and a curse. Light, he’s discovered, can be both a friend and an enemy. Besides him, Cody mutters a weary thanks to the gods.

They look both ways when they cross the road, because the Clankers are still looking for them and they can’t afford to be sloppy now, so close to safety. He and Secura drop to the concrete as Cody raps his knuckles on the manhole cover in the pattern of the password. There’s a drawn-out moment before their knock is answered and then the cover is being pushed aside and Rex’s face appears. He looks _furious_.

“Thirty-three minutes,” he growls at Cody.

Cody looks a little bewildered as his brother pulls him into a bone crushing hug that nearly drags them both down the ladder. “I’m sorry?” he offers.

“Thirty-three minutes and I’d have had to come and look for your sorry ass. Don’t _do_ that to me.” Rex releases him from the hug and punches him on the shoulder instead for good measure, before turning his ire on Obi-Wan. “And you,” he says, “were meant to look after him.”

Obi-Wan, the infamous Negotiator, is out of his depth under the pressure of the Fett brand of protectiveness. “I did?”

“That shouldn’t be a question,” Rex replies, unimpressed.

Secura comes to their rescue. “Maybe we should get inside?”

Rex eyes her and then visibly does a double take. “Aayla?”

She smiles at him and he seems to pull himself together.

“Get inside, quickly.”

Cody ushers Secura down first and himself last so he can pull the cover back over his head. Rex embraces Secura before sending her on into the room with a shout of warning to his father. Then he eyes them both with far less warmth and no small amount of worry.

“What happened?”

“That, I think, is best told once,” Cody replies, “so I’m going to do that in front of everyone.”

“Are you both alright?”

They offer a pair of grimaces in return.

“As well as can be expected,” Cody tells him.

They follow Secura into the room in time to see the family reunion. And now that they’re safe, Obi-Wan can really appreciate the fact she’s here, if not quite untouched by the world. Her blue-black hair is tightly braided into two long tails that she flicks repeatedly over her shoulder, and when it catches the light Obi-Wan can tell there’s brittle a quality to it, like she’s not been eating so well recently. She’s leaner than he remembers, but then he can’t exactly talk, and she gives of a distinct aura of exhausted-fight-survive. He’s relieved to see she holds herself in the same, resolute way and when she smiles at her family, it’s with a genuine joy.

“ _Adiik_ ,” Jango greets as he embraces her in a fierce hug that lasts several seconds. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?”

Secura draws back. “That is a long story,” she says

“And we must hear it,” Jango agrees, “but first I imagine you’re all hungry?” He addresses Obi-Wan and Cody too, but Fives and Echo perk up as well and even Boba eyes them in interest.

“We are,” Cody admits.

They’d managed a small stop after they’d escaped the sewer, settling behind the shutters of an abandoned post office to share their rations and water with each other, and take the chance to reload their weapons. Obi-Wan had switched his magazine to find he had a single round left. Had the Clankers not shown up when they did, he’d wouldn’t have had the time to switch it out for a fresh one and then he’d be back to where he was two days ago, fighting them with his hunting knife.

Regardless, food seems like a long time ago now.

“I’ll sort it,” Echo says and jumps up from the floor, sidestepping the mess around him.

They’ve got Kix’s field scissors and an unwilling Boba sat by the fire, surrounded by a halo of cut hair. It seems that none of them could sleep until they’d returned and had set about trying to be productive instead. Obi-Wan hopes Boba’s hair will recover at some point and tries not to recall the fights he’d had with Anakin to get him to cut his occasionally. Mostly because it _hurts_ to think about what might be happening to them, especially in moments like this when he’s not actively doing something to get them back. There’s a need to keep moving for his own peace of mind that he knows is unreasonable. At this second in time there’s nothing he _can_ do beyond feeding back their finding so they can all plan together, but there’s that little voice in the back of his head insisting he should be doing something _more_ to get them back and he shouldn’t rest until they’re back in his arms.

Obi-Wan runs a hand through his beard and pushes those thoughts aside because they’re only going to torment him. It’s longer and more scraggly than he’d like, but given the events of the last few days, he’s not exactly had time to focus on its upkeep. His scissors had been in his bag and they’d disappeared with the rest of his things when the Clankers hit.

Cody’s still stood behind him, watching the reunion quietly as Secura allows Jango to seat her next to Padmé and the rest of the Fetts jump on her in greeting. “I’m sure you could use the scissors if you wanted.”

Obi-Wan reaches up to pat his hair. “I didn’t think it was that bad yet.”

Cody just hums non-committedly, and the sound should not make him feel like _that_.

Maybe Anakin’s right, maybe it has been too long.

They join the circle by the fire – it’s more of a swarm, and he hopes Secura’s alright with being hounded after what just happened in the sewer, but she doesn’t seem to mind – letting the rapid fire conversations of others wash over them. Threepio limps excitedly over and drops his head into Obi-Wan’s lap and Obi-Wan smiles, stroking him in greeting. Then Cody wordlessly picks up the scissors and hands them over to him.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Is that a hint?”

Cody raises an eyebrow at him and Obi-Wan concedes his beard could do with a trim but he’s far too tired to tackle his hair now. He pushes Threepio off his lap and onto the floor so he can lean forward properly. It’s hard when he doesn’t have a mirror and his beard isn’t wet, but he does his best with muscle memory. When he thinks he’s finished he turns to Cody who just gives him a long look and takes the scissors.

“Stay still,” he says and then one hand is on Obi-Wan’s jaw to stop him from moving.

Not that Obi-Wan could move because his entire body _freezes_. Cody is touching him, _voluntarily_ , and each point of contact burns like ice into his skin. There’s a memory there, of the first time Cody did that and Obi-Wan has the distinct memory of thinking, _I’m absolutely kriffed_. It’s just as true now as it was then, and there must be an irony to that somewhere.

He can feel the blades of the scissor ghost against his beard as Cody tidies up his work wordlessly. It’s so oddly intimate that Obi-Wan feels a little bit like he’s drowning. Then Cody is pulling away and returning the scissors to Kix, not looking in his direction as he kicks the off cuts over the ledge. Obi-Wan looks up to see Rex giving the both of them an indecipherable look from behind Secura’s shoulder, that may or may not be laced with pity of all things.

Mostly, Obi-Wan is just confused.

Then Echo is announcing food is ready and he pulls himself together for what is inevitably to come. It’s some of the chickpeas Obi-Wan found, though it seems Echo has become a somewhat experimental cook, because he’s mixed what looks like several of the small jars of red sauce from the ration packs into it and some chunks of meat he can’t identify. And yet, when the pot is passed around, he finds he’s had far _worse_ food.

They shuck off their boots to dry and try not to think about how the water in the sewer had been rancid and contaminated with the dead, for all that it wasn’t actually sewage. Their trousers have mostly dried throughout the course of the day, and the three of them are steadfastly ignoring the smell in favour of basking in the company and the feeling of safety-security-relief while they still can. It had been a close call today and the escapes _none_ of them.

It’s Jango that asks the question hanging in the air, and Obi-Wan does his best to rein in the sigh that wants to break free. Really, what he wants is to sleep. (What he wants is for Anakin and Ahsoka to be safe and by his side and for all of this madness to stop so he can go back to teaching, and he wants Cody to be by his side too, but all of that is unrealistic so he’d settle for sleep at this very moment). What he _doesn’t_ want, is to give a report.

“What happened today?”

He allows Cody to tell most of it, how they got there easily and positioned Cody and then Obi-Wan went into the compound, but he has to tell them what happened in there himself and he doesn’t really know how to broach the real subject they need to discuss. He tells them about the fight, and they hiss at the revelation that he fought Bly, their cousin, and look to Secura who patiently gestures for them to wait. She will explain, but he must do so first. Their brush in the sewer he explains away in less than two sentences and he graces meeting up with Secura with a few more. It’s a clinically short mission report, but that makes it easier. Emotions just make everything messy.

“You mentioned the SITH,” Cody prompts when he pauses and doesn’t start again.

“I- yes, I did.” He finds himself retrieving the silka beads again, focusing on them over the scrutiny. He rolls his shoulder and tries not to wince at the pain. “We might have a problem.”

Secura snorts but there’s no humour in it.

“Dooku was there,” he says, slipping the beads through his fingers individually.

“What?” He’d neglected to mention that to her before and he looks up to find her eyes wide with alarm and disbelief. “He let you go?”

“He didn’t recognise me,” Obi-Wan consoles her, “he had no idea who I was.”

And honestly, he doesn’t know whether or not to be offended by that.

“Dooku as in _Count Dooku_?” Rex asks patiently. “The Separatist _Supreme Leader_?”

“The very same,” Obi-Wan agrees and Rex swears.

Jango has gone oddly still at that, his breathing overly calm and controlled. Obi-Wan files that away to ask Cody about later. The man had hounded his sons on many different battlefields throughout the course of the war. That alone is plenty of reason for Jango to hate the man.

“As much as I am _not_ a fan of Count Dooku, what has that got to do with the JEDI problem?” Cody asks, ever the one to get to the point.

Obi-Wan and Secura share a look. They are the only two, after all, that really know about the SITH and that isn’t information that is prudent they keep to themselves anymore. The war is _over_ and they’re on their own side now, and keeping everyone else in the dark would be done in cowardice and no longer the name of security. Secura also lets him know, in that look, that he was a _high JEDI general_ and thus outranked her ( _outranks?_ – he can’t tell if she still considers herself a JEDI or if she’s trying to _convince_ herself she is), and therefore it’s up to him to deliver the news. He can’t blame her.

“Dooku was once a JEDI,” Obi-Wan admits, “and if he ever recognises me, then we’re all fucked.” The amount of energy and manpower Dooku would dedicate to his capture or destruction doesn’t bare thinking about.

Jango fixes him with a murderous glare and seems to be about to chastise his language, but his youngest son cuts him off.

“A what?” Boba asks, completely uncaring of Obi-Wan’s _choice_ words.

This Obi-Wan decides, is where he tells them. _Properly_. The SITH and the JEDI are no more, not really, all that are left are pockets and memories. And all he, Dooku and Secura are, are remnants of a dead era and a thrice-damned war. Nothing more.

He just needs to work out how to approach it.

“Echo, you know you once asked me what special forces I was?”

Echo nods, confused by the non sequitur. But then so is everyone but Secura herself, Rex and Cody who have both been under JEDI generals on various missions with the GAR, and possibly Padmé who’d once been under his protection as an apprentice-commander.

“I was a JEDI,” he tells them and to say it aloud to people he is most certainly not allowed to tell is… freeing. The Council would have been horrified ( _but then_ , he tells himself, as he had done so many other times when trying to justify something, _he was a part of the Council._ Or he had been, rather, when he was still a JEDI).

Cody had known he was a JEDI of course, even he wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret between them and they’d worked together professionally more than enough times to explain that fact away to the brass should the problem arise. He’s also pretty sure Rex knows, either by extension or because he’s smart and Obi-Wan had led Rex’s 501st Legion on occasion. But neither of them had put it into so many words between them. It was safer that way, for the both of them to plead ignorance.

“I’ve heard of them,” Echo says reverently. “They were _insane_.”

Fives peers round his twin’s shoulder to get a better look at Obi-Wan as if reassessing every assumption he’s ever made about him. The twins have heard of the JEDI because anyone that passed through the GAR has. They’d been considered to be somewhere between a kind of secret weapon and a semi-tangible legend. Perhaps Fives and Echo had even worked under a JEDI general unknowingly, and because they weren’t command, they would never have been privy to that information. The JEDI had guarded their own existences as a closely kept secret, and all but a necessary select few had been granted the privilege to know them.

Jango levels Obi-Wan with a flat gaze that makes Cody twitch next to him, and he suspects there will be a long conversation between father and son later.

Boba wrinkles his nose in confusion at everyone’s reaction. “What’s a JEDI?” At _thirteen_ , he remains the only Fett in the room to have never been part of any kind of military.

“The Judicial Evasive Defence Initiative. _JEDI_ for short.” Obi-Wan tells him. “We were kind of like-”

“ _Super soldiers_ ,” Echo cuts in eagerly.

Cody shoots his brother a sharp, withering look.

Obi-Wan wouldn’t have described them as _super soldiers_ exactly. They might be more agile than most, more flexible to anything the galaxy dumped their way, but they weren’t necessarily stronger or more proficient – a comparison of him and Cody will prove that. It had been more the mindset. They’d been _raised_ as JEDI, their entire lives had been preparation for their role. They’d trained from the time they could stand on their own two feet, sometimes even before, and that had simply given them far more time to be _better_. Everything about their education had been tailored too, in a way civilians weren’t. They been brought up as soldiers, diplomats, mediators, secret agents and any other roll the Senate thought they needed to fill, and they’d grown up breathing their creed in a way no other branch of military had.

There was a reason, after all, they were highly sort after.

Echo looks back at his brother accusingly. “Did you know?”

Cody jerks his head in affirmation.

“How could you not tell us?” Echo’s voice raises in righteous indignation. “How cool would it have been to say I was related to a JEDI?”

There’s a collective wince at his words, at the implication of what had been between Obi-Wan and Cody and neither of them can look the other in the eye. There had been a time when everyone had assumed they’d either eloped and married in secret to save Obi-Wan’s sanity from a Fett wedding (though he would never have denied Cody that, it was almost regarded as a rite of passage within his clan) or that they were on the brink of proposing to each other (they had been). Everyone had just assumed they were together for life. Hell, _he_ had.

A reminder of that scorns them all.

“That,” Rex says, “that is why you weren’t told.”

“You knew _too_?”

“Of course I did, _vod’ika_.”

“It was not my secret to tell,” Cody says stiffly.

And Obi-Wan really wants to direct the conversation somewhere else. “If it helps, you are still related to a JEDI,” he offers. Secura raises an eyebrow at him and he’s sure she never used to have that kind of attitude when he knew her, so that has to be Bly’s Fett influence surfacing.

“You and Cody didn’t…?” Fives asks.

Obi-Wan blushes, fingers clenching on the beads and Cody looks towards the ceiling for strength. Sometimes, he thinks wryly, the Fetts can be a little much and a little… thoughtless. He has half a mind to run _a basics in etiquette and polite conversations_ class for them, if he didn’t know they would raise more shit because of it, only more _eloquently_.

“No,” he says through his teeth, and flicks his head, “General Secura?”

This time even Rex’s jaw drops as he looks down at Secura. “You- you’re a _JEDI_?”

“I was, yes,” she agrees, and then corrects herself. “I am.”

Huh, present tense it is. And that _is_ a conversation he wants to have later.

Rex’s eyes flick to Cody to share his disbelief and he’s brought short by Cody’s complete lack of reaction to the news that _one of their own_ is a former JEDI.

“You knew.” Rex shoots his brother a betrayed look and Cody just shrugs.

“Marshall Commander,” he says by way of an explanation.

And it is an explanation. The JEDI may have always been in the officer pipeline by virtue of being JEDI, and their progression through the ranks always clear, but Cody’s path hadn’t been, he’d worked his way up to earn one of the highest honours through his skill alone. A Marshall Commander had control of their entire country’s forces within the GAR (in Cody’s case that had been the 7th Sky Corps and the 212th – his own personal attack battalion) and answered only to a high general or the Senate’s prerogative itself. It was a colossal responsibility and he’d been privy to a lot of sensitive information – like the identity of certain JEDI he worked with on occasion. And it seems he’s kept that information to himself, like he was supposed to.

“Technically, Cody outranked her,” Obi-Wan offers.

“Did he out rank you?” Boba asks, curious.

Obi-Wan taps his shoulders where his epaulettes would have been once. “High General outranks everyone but the Supreme Chancellor and the Senate.”

The fucking Supreme Chancellor.

The room quiets as everyone absorbs this new information and Obi-Wan gets the distinct impression Jango is never going to look at him the same way again. That any of them are. They know the reputation associated with JEDI, some of them intimately, and they’re trying to reconcile that with their knowledge of him.

He can see how that’s difficult.

“So,” Cody prompts, “Count Dooku was once a JEDI and then he left to fight for the Separatists?”

“He forsook the JEDI and became a SITH,” Secura tells him, as if that explains everything.

“Right, the SITH,” Cody says.

And that still needs an explanation, doesn’t it?

“The SITH were our counterpart,” Obi-Wan explains, “they were raised, much as we were, to fight for their government – the Separatists. Only, if the reports can be believed, much more brutally than we ever were and often without mercy.” Which is saying something, given the Academy’s methods. “It left them incredibly effective, perhaps more so than JEDI, but much more unstable. Which had its benefits in battle, but less so elsewhere. As our direct counterparts, they were our responsibility to deal with and given they had a status similar to ours, they were given the same level of clearance. Only those at the highest level could know about their existence.”

Hell, most of the Senate itself hadn’t known about the SITH, or Dooku’s past. Just the JEDI and the Chancellor’s inner circle. For decades, the JEDI themselves hadn’t considered their existence either. After the Last Great War, it had been thought the SITH had been defeated and disbanded, and they’d been reduced to stories told in the creche to scare younglings to sleep. Geonosis had changed that, like it had changed everything else, and the apparent rebirth of the SITH had added another layer to the Cold War between the Republic and the Separatists.

“That makes no sense,” Boba mutters. “How can you _raise_ a JEDI?”

Obi-Wan looks grim. “How much does everyone actually know about the JEDI?”

From the looks he gets back, he’d say mostly rumours. Rumours which have served their purpose in the past, keeping him and his people on the right side of untraceable, but which now have no place.

“The JEDI were created as a branch of government a couple of hundred years ago to help support the army and agents in the field. We were… _trained_ from a young age to be the best at what we did, and nobody could really argue with the results. Mostly we acted in the capacity of special forces, but in reality we were whatever the Senate needed us to be and because we didn’t officially exists that could be _anything_ because it couldn’t be traced back to us. That’s why we were kept secret, so scrutiny couldn’t impede our ability to act. Only, inevitably, the Senate began to make less and less moral decisions on our behalf as the war began and progressed.” And history has never looked kindly on those who say they’re just following orders, regardless of the consequence.

The looks on Secura’s face tells him it’s neither a descriptive or particularly flattering view of the JEDI, but neither can she tell him he’s _wrong_.

Geonosis happened and suddenly, to help fight the war against the SITH, the JEDI were given martial powers and near immunity in the field to achieve the mission objectives set by the Senate. Their sense of purpose degenerated to the mindless fighting of one war. And then, well, the end of the world meant none of it mattered anymore. But once, they’d been a force of good. Aid and relief missions, peace keeping forces, engineers and pilots and medics stationed in remote parts of the world hit by disaster – that had been what the JEDI had been created to do, with no discrimination over Republic membership. At best, they were supposed to mediate wars and counter terrorists.

They weren’t supposed to be what they became.

“How young?” Jango asks his voice hard and his eyes unforgiving.

Obi-Wan sighs. It’s not an uncommon notion. Some had baulked at how a JEDI was made, once they’d been enlightened, some even having the audacity to accuse them of being _baby snatchers_. But no babies had been snatched and in that sense the Academy had been as much of a home or orphanage as any other. It had looked after – in the kindest sense of the word – children no-one else had been able to or wanted.

The only ones who hadn’t had a choice in the matter had been the babies or children themselves and in that way, they were like all others their age. Obi-Wan’s main problem with the system came later, when the child turned of age to make their own decisions and found that the Council and the Senate wouldn’t let them.

“We were raised at the Academy. From as young as one or two usually, though babies could be looked after if the need arose.”

Jango looks angry at that. “Your parents didn’t raise you?”

The kicker to that is Jango _knows_ he’s an orphan. Obi-Wan remembers the dinner Fives brought that up because it’s forever ingrained in his memory, as is Cody’s cringing at his family’s straightforwardness and the hand he’d offered under the table. Clearly, Jango now trusts nothing Obi-Wan has ever told him. “I never knew my parents, they died before the Academy took me in.”

“How young?” Jango repeats.

“I was not quite a year old.”

He doesn’t begrudge the JEDI taking him in, he’s read the reports of his abandonment for kriffs sake. He was left on the steps of a police station in the middle of the night in a small town near the Riverlands of Stewjon. Had a passer-by not happened to hear a baby’s cries he’d have frozen to death before the morning (and the JEDI would not have had the chance to claim him before social services did). The best anyone could tell, the aunt who was supposed to be looking after him had fled barely two weeks after being handed him.

Jango turns to Secura, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

“I was much older. My General had to fight to get me inducted after he rescued me from a slaver ring. I don’t know my actual age, but it was somewhere between five and seven when I entered the Academy.”

And that in itself had been a source of contention he remembers. _Too old to train_ , they’d said, and she’d proved them all wrong.

All of the Fetts look appalled and Obi-Wan is a bit resentful of that. It’s not like any JEDI had the option of a large and aggressively supportive extended family. They’d ended up with the JEDI because there would be no-one to miss them when they were disappeared, no-one to offer an alternative. And the JEDI had _become_ his large, extended family. For all of their faults, he’d loved them.

“How did we not know this?” Kix asks, looking upset.

“Because the Jetti like to keep their secrets,” Jango says and there’s nothing kind in his words, not even for Secura.

Neither Obi-Wan nor Secura have an answer to that. Obi-Wan gives up trying to explain because he knows he’s going to lose. He’s already done all of this with Cody, years ago, and at the time he’d been supportively interested. Now he just stays silent at his side and Obi-Wan isn’t sure any more of what he thinks.

“You met Cody at Geonosis, at the start of the war” Echo says suddenly, latching on to the topic Obi-Wan brushed over. “Were you there because you were a JEDI?”

“I was,” Obi-Wan tells him. What he _doesn’t_ tell him that it was his presence there as a JEDI, that was the real reason the _entire war_ started. The guilt of that still eats away at his soul. “We fought together and he saved my life,” he adds, clutching at something more positive. “I was about to be executed by Dooku and Cody led the battalion that showed up to help.”

More than that, Cody had been the one to drag him out of the maw of one of the King of Geonosis’ personal beasts and protect him from the shrapnel that rained down. He’d been the one to search him out in the aftermath and deliver him to medical aid, the one kind enough to tell him how things stood to his face.

“I met Bly because of Geonosis,” Secura says and the eyes switch back her way. “Not _at_ Geonosis, but because of the Accord and the battalion they gave me to work with in Quell afterwards. It was the one Bly Commanded.”

“Just like Cody commanded Obi-Wan’s?”

The GAR military structure was largely incomprehensible to anyone who hasn’t had to sit down and do the paperwork for it. Obi-Wan remains convinced that half the Senate still had no idea by the end of the war, and not at all because of the fact that sometimes they’d suggest things that were _logistically impossible._ And it’s true to say that the JEDI’s place within the GAR was even more confusing.

Cody hadn’t actually been a part of the GAR exactly, he’d been part of the CCAM, the _Combined Clan Army of Mandalore_ , a posting that the direct descendants of each clan leader were expected to take to do their part for their country and prove their clan’s strength. But as part of Mandalore’s Republic membership they had to contribute men to the GAR, the _Grand Army of the Republic_ , and it had been entirely chance that Cody’s corps had been selected to do so during the time of Geonosis. Throughout the whole time Obi-Wan and Cody knew each other, Cody was being cycled in and out of the GAR and the CCAM, and it had been a nightmare for them to try and live with each other because they were apart far more than they had been together. And yet, for years they’d persevered.

The JEDI _had_ , however, technically been a part of the GAR, but they hadn’t been subjected to the same factionalism and patriotism of the rest of it. They hadn’t even stayed with other JEDI, because the general school of thought was that only one of them was really needed per crisis (they were, apparently, _that_ good). Apprentice-commanders hadn’t been counted, and had trailed along behind their generals, getting experience and leading lesser attacks and missions. JEDI hadn’t been attached permanently to specific men, or specific a country, so much as rotated around different battalions as the situation called for. Obi-Wan had had his own small company that followed him around to make the constant transitioning much smoother on the ground and Boil had commanded those men in his absence.

So, on occasion, yes, Obi-Wan had commanded Cody’s battalion, but it was far from the only battalion he ever commanded.

“Kind of,” he allows.

Boba, for once, seems to be paying attention with rapt interest, and he leans forward eagerly. “So the SITH are like your mortal enemy?”

He’s about to agree when Cody beats him too it, and he speaks with such feeling that Obi-Wan is genuinely surprised. But then, he shouldn’t be, because Cody makes an excellent point.

“They aren’t just the enemy of the JEDI, they’re our enemy too,” Cody says, “they fought against us and thousands of us died because of them. Geonosis, Mandalore, Ryloth, Naboo, Christophsis and all the rest, they were the fault of the SITH. They were the fist of the Separatists.”

He looks to Obi-Wan for confirmation of his suspicions and all Obi-Wan can do is nod. The SITH caused suffering far and wide, and it would be arrogant to say that only the JEDI could hold any claim against them. And Cody and his brothers _had_ suffered because of them, they had been maimed and decimated at the hands of SITH operatives, just as the JEDI had.

“ _Demagolka_ ,” Jango condemns quietly.

“Yes,” Secura says before Obi-Wan can forget himself and the fact that he is _not_ meant to understand. “Demagolka.”

“And Dooku is here, now?” Jango asks, dangerously. “And he presumably wants us as dead as we want him?”

Jango had retired from the CCAM with high honours so he could take up the mantle of Mand’alor after the death of his father, before the outbreak of the Cold War. He’s never faced the Separatists on the battlefield, not in name anyway, though he has fought their precursor. But that had been before Dooku had stepped forward, so he should only know who Dooku is because his sons keep him informed on the characters of the theatre of war. And yet, the way he says Dooku’s name, is with an aching familiarity. It sets alarm bells of in Obi-Wan’s head.

“The SITH will not look favourably on any JEDI, and it’s a blessing he didn’t recognise me at the time. He certainly wouldn’t let me go, not when he spent the entire war trying to have me killed. But whether he wants us dead or not is unclear. Me and Secura perhaps, but Dooku is not one to waste opportunity and if he has a use for the rest of you, he might suffer you to live. It depends how badly he needs grunts.”

Jango raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the implication.

Obi-Wan doesn’t even apologise. He knows Dooku’s mind far to well for his own good, and he knows the way the Count would look down on anyone he deemed beneath him as nothing but cannon fodder. He’s merely stating what he thinks of Dooku’s position and intentions and for the whole of his involvement in the war that had been his _job_. He’d become _good_ at it and it had kept them alive. “The only consolation is that they don’t seem to know Anakin and Ahsoka once were JEDI too. They can’t appreciate what’s in their grasp.”

“They were?”

Despite his best attempts otherwise, he can’t deny that an upbringing is an upbringing and the Academy leaves its imprints deeply. Ahsoka had been close to thirteen by the time he’d managed to formally adopt her and get her far away, and by then thirteen years’ worth of JEDI preparation were already swimming around her head. Anakin had aged out of the academy and had been all set for an apprenticeship before Obi-Wan had intervened, which meant he had the full eighteen years’ worth of content.

And after Geonosis, he couldn’t let the system have his brother and his daughter.

“They grew up in the Academy,” he says simply, “they were raised and trained to be JEDI, and even an unfinished JEDI is valuable. They just didn’t choose to continue into the army.”

“How _did_ they do that?” Secura asks curiously.

 _No-one_ _did that_ , is what passes unsaid.

“I helped them.”

He can feels the Fetts looking between them, some aware they’ve missed a nuance of the conversation. Because, after all, why would anyone not want to be a JEDI? Most people didn’t know about the lack of choice involved, about how it simply wasn’t for some people, no matter their training. And despite the array of alternate roles, some people just wanted to go their own way and that had been nearly impossible. Choice was important, because without a choice, they were just slaves to the Republic. And in that, in holding on too tightly, the JEDI had been wrong. He admits that freely.

The killer, Obi-Wan thinks, is that he had loved being a JEDI. His entire purpose had been _evasive defence_ – he’d be sent into the field to find a better option, a better resolution to a problem than violence, to keep the peace in the name of the Republic. And he’d love it, he was _meant_ to be a JEDI. But Geonosis had warped their purpose and they’d lost their way. They started fighting in the war instead of trying to find a way to _stop_ it.

No, not Geonosis, he corrects. The SITH warped their purpose and Geonosis had simply been the first symptom of a larger problem. There had been a SITH in the Senate, after all, and that had meant they were all compromised from the start. Dooku had given them that information for free at the very beginning.

“How do we know,” Padmé speaks up for the first time, “that they don’t know?”

The shiver at that consideration radiates down his spine and something sharp pierces his finger. He looks down to see the edge of one of the silka beads dropped with blood. “We don’t.”

Oh, Force, they have no idea. They can only hope. Neither Ventress nor Dooku had given any indication that they knew, but in reality that means _nothing_. Why would they have given that away if they did know?

Anakin has never been one to lie down and let things happen to him passively. He’ll be fighting against his captors, Ahsoka alongside him. They’re both young and highly trained and foolhardy, a fatal combination in circumstances such as these. They have no sense of their own mortality and will try any hairbrained scheme to escape, unthinking of the consequences. Obi-Wan just hopes neither of them get hurt because if they do, he’ll never ever forgive himself.

“That’s why we have to get them out.” Cody says it as if it’s that simple, but the conviction he inflicts upon his words speak otherwise.

And Obi-Wan has an idea about that. “Can I borrow the map?” he asks.

Jango looks at him oddly but pulls it out of his back pocket and passes it over via Kix.

He spreads the map out on the floor to show the whole of the town. He finds where they are on the map and traces back the route they took this afternoon until he gets to where they came up out of the sewers.

On _East Street._

He follows the length of the road and finds a not-quite-comforting block of red that spreads across both sides of the road, and several of the surrounding buildings. Amongst the red of the rest of the map it doesn’t particularly stand out, it’s just one of many compounds that prove the Clankers out number them innumerably. But in context…

“They’re being kept here,” he says, “not a barracks in the East, but barracks on _East Street_.”

There’s a beat of understand that spreads around the room and Jango drops his previous grievance and actually moves to stand behind Obi-Wan to get a better look at the map. He tries his best not to feel uncomfortable at his ex’s dad’s presence but there’s something about Jango that constantly radiates _threat_ that has him on edge. That and his blatant disdain for the only people Obi-Wan’s ever been truly able to call his own.

“Why is there an East Street not in the East?” Boba asks sullenly and Kix leans over to punch him on the shoulder.

“Because it _leads_ to the East,” he says with an infinite patience not reflected in his actions.

Jango looks to Cody, and Obi-Wan decides that Cody is definitely his second and Rex is Cody’s.

“I think he’s right,” Cody says slowly, sounding it out.

Obi-Wan wishes he had some way to record that.

“We’d have to send out a patrol,” Jango muses, “try and work out where we stand exactly and if they’re even there. We don’t want to rush anything.”

“And equally,” Cody says, “we don’t want to waste time we might not have.”

Jango looks around. “We go out in the morning then.”

Obi-Wan looks at the map and the area of the compound. The mess of blue lines, denoting patrol routes, aren’t overly detailed and he suspects the base was noted more in passing than anything else. They’re going to have their work cut out, and they’re going to have to watch it around the clock so that they know _exactly_ what’s going on.

“I think,” Obi-Wan says slowly, “we might have to stake it out for a night or two. Looking at the size of the compound compared to the town hall, it’s going to have at least as many Clankers and that’s not including prisoners or recruits. We need to be careful.” They’re Anakin and Ahsoka’s last hope, they can’t get caught.

Cody nods along and Obi-Wan knows that look. He’s planning something, working through the numbers in his head and weighing up the odds. His finger taps a spot on the map.

“We were here when we found this place and from what I remember it had a pretty good vantage of what was going on. If we wanted to stake a lookout, it wouldn’t be a bad place to do so. The cover is as good as we’re going to get, it’s an old block of flats, stripped of course, but we could stay there a while.”

Jango considers it. “We could rotate pairs. Have another on the other side of the compound to cover all bases. That’ll give us two vantage points.”

It’s not the most dramatic of settings he’s made battle plans in and it isn’t even his first sewer, but Obi-Wan thinks it’s bizarre all the same. “I agree,” he adds. “Twenty-four-hour rotations or forty-eight?”

“Forty-eight, I think,” Cody says, “we don’t want to traipse across the city too often. It’ll only increase our chances of contact.”

He hums in agreement.

They spend the next hour outlining details and pairings and drawing up contingency plans for if they get caught. It’s strictly an info-gathering mission and they treat it as such – any contact with the enemy will be met with immediate withdrawal. Cody shuts Obi-Wan down when he tries to get himself placed on endless watches, skipping his down cycle in the bunker, by giving him a sympathetic look – he understands the need to do something – but firmly tells him he needs the chance to rest. Everyone volunteers themselves and Obi-Wan is grateful that they’re all so invested, though whether that’s with the ultimate aim of expelling the Clankers, helping against the SITH or because of Anakin and Ahsoka he can’t tell. He likes to think it’s a combination of the three. Boba whines when Jango says he can’t join in and to everyone’s surprise Rex comes to his defence.

“He’s got to learn sometime and it’s not going to get much safer out there. He can’t stay in here forever.”

Obi-Wan expects Jango to shoot him down, but instead he just sighs wearily and relents, as if it’s been a long time coming. And Rex does have a point. In this world it’s now kill or be killed, and Boba is going to have to learn how to _not_ be killed sooner rather than later. Experience, after all, is the best teacher.

“As long as you stay close to my side,” Jango tells him, “and _only_ for the recce. If there’s a fight you stay out of it.”

“Unless it’s for self-defence,” Boba adds petulantly.

“Unless it’s for self-defence,” Jango allows.

Their planning breaks up when someone makes a pointed comment towards the fact the three of them have spent a chunk of their day traipsing through a sewer in less than clean water and Obi-Wan resigns himself to his third bath in as many days. He doesn’t point out that they’re switching one sewer for another, because unlike some people he could name, he knows how to read the mood of a room. It’s not particularly high right now. Cody tries to let Secura go first but she waves him off with the convincing argument they all need to sleep and it’ll save time if they go down together. Which is how the three of them end up in the water, pointedly not looking at each other.

JEDI weren’t raised with to be modest around their body because it wasn’t _practical_ and the showers in the Academy and many of the bases they were stationed on afterwards had been communal – he knows at least some of Cody’s were too, which makes the whole situation even more ridiculous. He and Cody have _definitely_ seen each other naked before and he’s sure he and Secura have by virtue of being in the Academy at similar times and the few times they’ve been stationed together.

Still, he only takes his shirt off to wring it and use the soap ( _soap_ ) and in all honesty he’s more bothered by the idea that there are crabs crawling around his boots than someone seeing his skin. He got over that discomfort many years ago, before he’d even really had it, when he accepted his scars were a part of his job and they weren’t going anywhere. They’d upset him for a while, but he’s grown proud of them because they show what he’s survived, what’s he overcome and what he can overcome again. It’s only when he looks up to see Cody staring intently at his shoulder that he becomes slightly self-conscious at all. It’s bruised from where he’s repeatedly fallen on it and today’s fighting has done it no favours, but he gets the feeling that isn’t what he’s looking at. Instead, Cody’s focus seems to be on the thin red scar that follows the curve of his deltoid.

He’d got it a few months post-apocalypse (he’d started by calling it the apocalypse ironically, but like all ironic things used to much, it had become serious) when the refugee camp they’d been in had erupted into chaos and he’d grabbed Anakin and Ahsoka and tried to run. Only the guards hadn’t been too happy about that and they’d tried to stab him. It had been deep and quickly become infected and still aches, even now, in the cold water.

When Cody notices he’s been caught he looks away abashed and blushes, the flush spreading down his chest. Obi-Wan’s _missed_ that, not that he’d ever admit to it. But it’s a reminder, that behind the façade, Cody still _feels_ no matter how hard he hides it, his emotions are strong, just well-guarded.

(Obi-Wan himself would never admit to looking back, or the way he categorises the changes he sees to memory. Cody’s never been fat, but he has always been bulky, and some of that seems to have burned away in the absence of three meals a day cooked army style (high on carbs and low on greens). From what Obi-Wan can tell there are new scars there too, including an interesting burn that stretches across his back.)

Cody leaves soon after and Obi-Wan goes to follow because it is getting cold, when Secura calls out to him.

“Do you still believe?” she asks, and he feels his brow crease in confusion.

“Believe what?”

She turns to face him, looking sad and doesn’t answer for a moment and he lets her sort out her thoughts before she has to voice them. Her hands come up to squeeze the water out of her braids, an action rendered fruitless because she’s still in the water.

“In the JEDI.”

He considers that for a moment because it’s a loaded question and he doesn’t really know the answer. Instinctively he wants to say it no longer matters, because they’re all either dead or just… wandering. Like him. And he flips widely from believing whether he is a JEDI or whether he isn’t. He left, for kriffs sake, he left the JEDI and that should mean he’s no longer one. He gave up on them, and so he isn’t worthy of being counted among their ranks. But she’s right about the belief part; the atmosphere they’d been raised in and worked in had fostered a belief in the JEDI philosophy. It had created a _faith_ , complete with its own creed. They’d even had their own code.

It depends, often, on what he finds himself doing. If he’s helping others then he finds it easy to consider himself a JEDI because while he might have been removed from the system, he’s still following their beliefs, their ideas. You might be able to remove the JEDI from the Academy and the GAR, but you couldn’t take away the teachings or the ingrained desire to help.

Other times, he thinks his actions are so unforgivable they’re not compatible with him being able to call himself a JEDI.

And then he’ll remember what they asked him to do and he’ll consider them not so holy at all.

So in all honesty, he really doesn’t know anymore.

“I believed in what they were created for and what they wanted to do, just not how they went about doing it,” and it’s about as close to voicing the truth as he can put into words. Whether he _still_ believes goes unsaid.

He’s aware he speaks in the past tense and as an outsider. It’s the safest stance to have, for his heart if nothing else. He had loved being a JEDI, but he could never have stayed with them, not if he ever wanted to rely on his conscience again.

She looks at him, weighing the value of his words, and in that moment more than anything, when the fierce conviction slips off her face, she looks so young. She can’t be that much older than Anakin and he knows about some of the things she’s seen and some of the things she’s done, and he struggles with that. With what the JEDI made her.

“There’s merit to that,” she decides, and adds ruefully, “war makes monsters of us all.”

“That it does.”

Force knows what he’s done in the name of the war effort, and Force knows he can’t accept the half of it.

She hesitates and tugs at her t-shirt for something to do with her hands. It seems like she’s about to say something else and then stops herself abruptly, as if she’s afraid of overstepping a bound he can’t see.

“I’m sorry about Bly,” he says, when she doesn’t elaborate further. He’s sincere, even if he did break her husband’s nose. It hadn’t been on purpose, and she of all people doesn’t deserve to deal with the fallout of his guilt. He wants to add that he though Bly was a good man, or something to that affect, but he can’t find words that don’t seem trite or condescending and he doesn’t even know the man. They hadn’t exactly spoken. “They called him Secura and I wondered,” he tells her instead.

That, at least, seems to amuse her. “Bly Secura,” she tries, “I like the sound of that.”

They share a smile, one that speaks of a shared burden and a sense of unspoken camaraderie that just _is_ and couldn’t be manufactured in a circumstance of any other making. They were, maybe even are, both _JEDI_ and they’re both missing the person they love. It’s a peculiar brand of suffering they share and the mess they present to the galaxy would be amusing if it wasn’t tragic. Obi-Wan is surprised by the warm bloom of belonging that seeps through his chest at the piece of his very first home that stands before him.

“It’s good to see you again, Secura.”

“You too, _Kenobi_.”

She’s right, it does feel painfully formal to call her Secura aloud, but they’d never been that close, only acquaintances because of Quinlan. She’s always seemed nice enough, but by the time she’d been taken as an apprentice and come onto the radar of his group of friends, Obi-Wan had long since passed out of the Academy and only ever saw her when she accompanied her general or he’d gone back to teach classes. It had seemed almost presumptuous to upgrade her from her surname somehow, even in his head.

She must sense his turmoil and takes pity on him. “You can call me Aayla, you know. Formalities don’t really mean anything anymore.”

“They only meant something before because people clung to them,” he snorts. _People like me_ , he doesn’t add. “But in that case, you have to call me Obi-Wan.”

“Deal.”

She leans up to pull him into a hug and he freezes for a moment before returning it because JEDI weren’t raised to be big on the whole touchy-feely thing and the platonic comfort of contact is still alien sometimes (though his brother _is_ Anakin, so maybe he’s more acclimatised than his thinks). Evidently, Bly’s Fett influence has extended deeply. It’s been years since anyone else hugged him and in part it only makes him wish for his brother more.

“Come on,” she says, letting him go, “or the others will think we’ve been washed away.”

“Or eaten by crabs,” he mumbles but she doesn’t appear to hear.

Kix is sat, sewing up the side of a grumpy looking Cody’s palm and giving him a lecture on self-care that looks far too deep to be about his injury alone. Obi-Wan hadn’t realised it was quite that bad. The idiot hadn’t said anything, but then he shouldn’t have had to.

“Why are you grinning?” Kix asks Secura-, he asks Aayla.

“He gave them my name, the sly bastard.”

“Who?”

“ _Bly_.”

“Surely that’s not good?”

“He told them his name was Bly Secura,” she actually laughs, “It’s a sign he’s still _Bly_.”

And Obi-Wan can see relief in her eyes and he hadn’t truly appreciated until that moment how much worry she’d concealed beneath her mask of calm serenity.

“Well,” Boba says, “given he’s probably doodles that into the corner of all of his notebooks, diaries and confidential battle synopsis, I don’t think anyone is surprised.”

Rex goes to swat him around of the back of the head but Boba’s expecting it and ducks, and then proceeds to stick his tongue out in his brother’s direction.

“I’m not going to let him forget this,” she promises gleefully and manages to make it sound like a threat.

“I think it may be time, _adiik_ , to tell us what happened,” Jango says, not unkindly.

The mirth disappears and her shoulders slump as she guides herself to sit close to the fire Fives stokes. “I don’t know,” she says bitterly. “ _I don’t know_.”

Padmé’s hand wraps around her shoulder and Aayla turns gratefully to her in a way Obi-Wan’s never seen a JEDI depend on anyone, not emotionally. It’s much more a _Fett_ response. Threepio must sense her distress because his trots over to her and drops into her lap with his puppy dog eyes wide. Aayla manages a bubbly laugh that sounds threateningly close to tears.

Nobody else laughs. Nobody says _anything_.

Cody turns to Obi-Wan to share a look of concern.

“I was- I remember getting injured pretty badly,” she says. “I blacked out a lot and I think I scared Bly, but I don’t really remember all that much. Then when I came to I was in a heavily armed camp. They’d healed me and Bly was _gone_. He didn’t even say _goodbye_. They just told me they’d done their part and I had to leave, that I had an hour before they stopped holding back the hunters.”

Padmé murmurs words of comfort Obi-Wan can’t hear.

“We’d been walking for days to get to this town, we thought after we left the last one that this one could only be better. But it’s worse, so much worse. Bly’s _gone_ and he’s their _puppet_. He fought Obi-Wan, and for what?”

“He traded his life for yours,” Obi-Wan says quietly, _apologetically_. He knows he’s right, but that doesn’t mean the truth hurts any less. “Because he loves you.”

That’s what you do for people you love. You protect them with everything you are.

Cody looks at him sharply, assessing and judging. There’s a warning there, but it’s specific because there’s no retribution laced into it. It’s not, for once, about before. It’s a warning not to trade his life for Ahsoka’s, not unless there’s no other choice.

“I never asked him to do that,” she hisses angrily, even as she blinks away tears. “Force _, ner riduur cuyir_ _or'dinii_.”

Obi-Wan appreciates how she’s taken to the language.

“I think,” Padmé says decisively, “we should all get some sleep.”

Aayla nods, grateful for the distraction. They all are.

“I’ll take first watch,” Rex offers.

Cody stands. “I’ll join you.”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping? It sounds like you’ve had a busy day.” Rex challenges.

“ _Ni linibar at rejorhaa'ir gar_ ,” he says simply, and Rex instantly drops the opposition in understanding.

The rest of them shuffle around, jostling for space on the floor which seems to get less and less each day. Obi-Wan claims the same spot, the one that allows him his back to the fire for warmth and for him to outwardly face the corridor, ever watchful. His rifle he leaves by his head, loaded but with the safety on, tension in the springs eased because it’s not like he can replace them. Threepio curls up in the space between his arms and his legs, a small furnace he’s grateful for because once again he’s sleeping in wet clothes.

It surprises both of them when Aayla lies next to him, curling so their backs are together, both looking outwards. Neither of them comment on it either, and for that’s he’s grateful. The solidarity of knowing someone has his back, and he has theirs is enough.

He doesn’t really sleep. Not even the quiet lull of Rex and Cody, talking too quietly to be heard, puts him to sleep. Tension seeps into his body and he knows he’s on edge, but all of the _what_ _ifs_ that could be happening to Anakin and Ahsoka are flying around his mind and he’s jittery with the need to do something, anything to dispel energy he can’t really afford to waste.

After a fitful burst of half-sleep he gives up, his watch telling him there’s still a few hours until dawn and he knows he’s not getting back under. Carefully, he manoeuvres himself around a sleeping dog and does his best not to disturb Aayla as he stands. He goes to relieve the guard and it seems he isn’t the only one with the idea, because he finds Jango approaching his two eldest.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Cody asks, with a hard sympathy, something closed off in his voice that Obi-Wan has no doubt is to do with his father’s presence and Rex’s answer to whatever he wanted to talk about.

Oddly, today- no, yesterday now, they’d managed to talk with an almost friendly countenance, against all precedence. It had felt, for brief fleeting moments, like the weight of their past had been lifted. But that’s gone now and the way they flip so awkwardly between familiarity and hostility is wearing, if not unexpected. And it makes Obi-Wan appreciate how tired he really is, of everything.

He just wants to go _home_ , back to before everything turned sour and he felt he had a purpose in life and a reason to come back breathing from the field. It’s exhausting denying that fact too, because he _can’t_ want it.

He shakes his head. “Came to let you try.”

“I was just about to say the same thing.” Jango gives him a look that is all predatory assessment.

Obi-Wan can only really interpret that as a challenge, one that dares him to brave Jango’s presence. And no matter how much he’d rather shoot himself in the foot, he’s never been a coward. “How fortunate,” he replies diplomatically, “you should always have two on sentry.”

Jango quirks his brow but doesn’t deny him and Cody looks between them with some concern before coming to the conclusion they’re both responsible adults and it’s their problem.

“Just, _don’t_ ,” is all he says before going to find somewhere to sleep alongside Rex.

Obi-Wan can’t tell who that was meant to be directed towards and doesn’t ask. He and Jango eye each other, a little wearily, and both sit down by the fire, neither of them saying anything for a long while. Long enough for Rex and Cody to at least reasonably feign sleep. And Obi-Wan’s always played defensive in his fighting, he rarely makes the first move, only counters to a devastating effect, and he’s no different with his words.

“So,” Jango finally says, “a JEDI.”

He all but spits the word and Obi-Wan sees a barely contained fire behind his eyes and senses the need to tread carefully. “Yeah.”

“Kote kept that one quiet.”

Obi-Wan winces. He doesn’t want to drive a wedge between father and son. He’s already done enough. But’s he’s not sure how to protect the honour of someone who so clearly doesn’t want him to. “That was my fault. People couldn’t know, not without the right clearance, not even family.”

“Family,” Jango says carefully, _dangerously_.

Obi-Wan doesn’t even try to back pedal, there’d be no point. “We were once,” he says without inflection, without allowing emotion to stain the words. Jango wouldn’t appreciate that.

“Once. But no more.”

Ah, the killing blow. Obi-Wan lets him have it because he deserves it and his heart is battered enough that one more score on its surface won’t make a difference. It’s Jango’s role to establish everyone’s place within their little group and Obi-Wan has no right to challenge him. He is, and will only ever be, an intruder in their midst and he has no right to complain at where they place his worth.

The crackle of embers fills the silence that follows and Obi-Wan watches the small tendrils of flame as they try and burst free of the dying fire. Carbon scores the concrete the fuel has been built and rebuilt upon, and he wonders how long the Fetts have been here, but it’s too inconsequential a question to put forth to Jango.

“Have you ever heard of Galidraan?” Jango asks, surprising him.

Obi-Wan draws his eyes away to meet the elders’, which is no small feat. “Of course.”

He _had_ been a JEDI and the massacre had shaped his Order far more than any of them cared to admit. They’d made a monumental mistake, and it had shamed them. They weren’t meant to cause the death of others unnecessarily and thousands of Mandalorians and no few JEDI had died because of their failure. The JEDI had acted on false intelligence and attacked the wrong sect responsible for the terror attacks they were trying to stop. Which had meant the terrorists, the Death Watch, had ultimately won. And for all the JEDI changed because of Galidraan, Mandalore did so far more fundamentally. They become isolated and mistrusting of outsiders, fuelling the efforts of the Death Watch and setting back progress by decades if not a century. It had been an unmitigated disaster.

There are so many lessons to be learnt from Galidraan, how could he not have heard of it?

“I fought there,” Jango tells him. He dismisses their eye contact to look at the wisps of flame. “I watched as my people and all their clans were cut down by JEDI and I swore if I ever met one afterwards that I’d kill them on sight.”

Obi-Wan smiles tightly. “What’s stopping you?”

“My sons,” he says honestly. “My sons and the fact I’m no longer as brash and full of anger as I once was. _Not_ that it means I forgive what happens. Just, becoming a father makes you think about what you want the world to be like for your children and I don’t want to be consumed by my anger and grief. I need to be there for them, especially now. And I’m old enough to recognise that you may be a JEDI, but you weren’t there, you had nothing to do with it and so I can’t blame you for it. And Aayla, could I blame her? She _is_ family. I have to move on, for them, for my children. And-” he hesitates.

“And Kote hasn’t…he would never forgive me if I killed you.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t know how he’s supposed to think about that. Grateful, he supposes, but he senses there’s something Jango is trying to convey to him without words that he doesn’t quite understand.

“Dooku was a Galidraan,” he says carefully, remember Jango’s reaction to the name before, “and now he’s here.”

Jango laughs and the sound is guttural and full of undirected anger and pain.

“The gods mock me with my failure. He made my people suffer before and because he lives, he makes them suffer now. Which is why we must prevail against him, against your SITH and the Clankers and the Risen. My sons are the most important thing in the world to me and I want them to be safe. I certainly don’t want them to be haunted by my past.”

However Obi-Wan thought this conversation was going to go, this was not it. He did not expect to empathise with someone who may or may not want to kill him still – he’s not entirely sure if Jango knows either. But the tension between them seems to have diffused itself and what’s replaced it is almost… _solidarity_.

“He haunts me too,” Obi-Wan bares himself, in a way he’d never have dreamed of exposing himself to his ex’s frankly terrifying father. “We spent years facing off from opposite sides of the battlefield and orchestrating treaties detrimental to the efforts of each other. He decimated me, in more than one way, and I did the same to him, and the people that _died_ for it…”

For a cold war, there had been an awful lot of hot wars contained within it, breaking out in seemingly innocuous Outer and Mid Rim countries, even the odd one in the Core. Mostly in places that became torn apart by civil war, opposing sides the puppets of the Republic and the Separatists, as the two great powers fought to establish their own ideology. And for a long while, Obi-Wan had been a part of that.

Jango is silent but he doesn’t seem to judge. Obi-Wan might even hesitate to say he _understands_ the anger behind Obi-Wan’s words, the fierce guilt that plagues him every day. His failure lost people, _good_ people, stole their lives while he kept his own and it’s his recompense that he’s forced to live with that.

“JEDI don’t really have family,” he finds himself saying, “so we make our own. Anakin, my brother, should have been my brother by lineage. The same person to train me should have trained him, would have-” and that’s an entirely different cascade of woe he doesn’t want to feel right now, “-had circumstances allowed. By my general, General Jinn, was the closest thing to a father I’ve ever known. He may have been terrible at it sometimes but, well, his own general never really set a good example.”

The way lineages work and the way he endeavours to train Ahsoka for the harsh times ahead they now face, it’s almost like she’s his daughter by the JEDI as well as by law.

“And who was his general?” Jango asks, and the frown across his face makes it clear he suspects where this is going.

Obi-Wan wants to cackle at the madness that this entire conversation presents. He’s never talked to another living soul about any of this. Since his general’s death he’s shoved all of his feelings down because he had to be alright. He’d been under the scrutiny of the Council and his career had been endangered and people had been relying on him. There had been no time for him to worry about himself. And now he’s talking about it with _Jango_ , like it’s some kind of kriffed up therapy session.

“Dooku. The shame of my lineage and the closest thing I have to a grandfather.” That’s certainly something he’s never voiced to anyone and it sobers him. “He tortured me on more than one occasion, when I was captured.” He doesn’t know why he confessed to _that_.

It seems to take them both aback.

“Well that’s fucked up.”

Obi-Wan snorts. “Welcome to my life.”

Another silence, but this one isn’t so concerning.

“The way I see it,” Jango says eventually, “you get to choose your family and so you don’t have to choose him.”

“I didn’t,” Obi-Wan replies simply. He chose Anakin and Ahsoka, he chose Bant and Garen and Quinlain and Reeft and Siri and even Qui-Gon, eventually. He chose Cody and his family.

He tries not to think about how many of them are still alive and how many of them _could_ still be alive, and how many have forsaken him in turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demagolka - someone who commits atrocities, a real-life monster, a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread.
> 
> Kote – glory. Cody’s Mando’a name, but not the ‘anglicized’ one he goes by.
> 
> Ner riduur cuyir or'dinii or'dinii – my husband is a moron 
> 
> Ni linibar at rejorhaa'ir gar – I need to talk
> 
> Adiik – child
> 
> This is a lot of dialogue, I appreciate, but I thought we could do with clearing the air a little.  
> All of your comments give me life, thank you so much for the support! xx  
> Next chapter should be up 12/5/20


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of before, a little bit of after and a whole lot of angst

The roar starts low and builds in strength, worming its way through the sandstone walls of the holding cells. He can hear it gaining traction, the great buzz of a swelling crowd, eager for their blood sport, crying out in their impatience. The Geonosians aren’t known for their kindness to outsiders, but they are known for their cruelty in dealing with traitors and trespassers, and while he isn’t the former, he’s certainly the latter.

He’s not overly hopeful about the outcome of the King’s decision.

His best hope now is that the message he transmitted reaches the Council. It’s doubtful they’ll get here in time to save his life, but it should give them the warning they need about the SITH’s intentions. They’re not as disbanded as the JEDI believed, it seems, and what’s more there are rumours of war on the horizon, one they must avoid at all costs. Because it’s the role of a JEDI to avoid war, to find another solution, and he fears he may just have made that all the harder.

This far down, cool air circulates down the corridor, bringing a welcome breath of fresh air from the oppressive dryness of everything. In the days he’s been down here, neither food nor water have been brought to him and the only relief he gets is the condensation on the rough stone of the walls. No matter, he’s lasted far longer without sustenance both in practice and in the Academy’s infamous trials he’d endured to graduate. He knows he can personally last almost a week before collapsing beyond use (and that rockets to a month if he has access to water). The Geonosians know better than to leave a JEDI at their full strength.

There’s the rustle of the leather uniforms the guards wear that make them look like wrinkly aged insects, and he uses the wall and his shoulder to push himself to his feet. He can’t clamp his hands behind his back as he’d like, or even cross his arms because of the manacles, but he does his best to stand imposingly all the same.

A pair of guards, barbed spears in their hands, approach his cell with caution. Dooku doesn’t accompany them this time, and a part of Obi-Wan is grateful he doesn’t have to face his great-general again. The betrayal, to the _SITH_ of all people, still runs bitter in his veins and he regrets not being able to inform the Council of that revelation because it’s surely news they’ll want to know about in the coming days. It’s not something he thinks the JEDI are prepared to deal with as they are, and he resigns himself to the grief he won’t be able to help his brothers and sisters. Not from beyond the grave.

If the Geonosians even allows him that honour. He has a feeling they might burn their dead.

“Come,” one of them commands in heavily accented Basic.

He allows himself to be led out of the cell, because if he’s going to die, it will be on his own terms and not down here in the dark. The tips of their spears push into his back to guide him and he tries not to wince at the loss of his body armour. They’ve stripped him of all of his weapons too, and they’ve bound his hands, leaving him in only his basic blacks; a t-shirt and his combat trousers. He’s not harmless exactly – the JEDI are hardly so negligent in their training – but his capacity for action is greatly reduced.

They lead him out of the holding area and up a set of broad worn stone steps, up towards sunlight and closer towards the roar of voices. When his boot scuffs the top of one of the steps and he stumbles, they’re merciless in coaxing him back to his feet with their weapons. He has a moment to appreciate the way amber light streams against slits in the outer stone wall from his position on the floor, and he knows they must be at least at ground level. Then he’s shoved back to his feet and pushed up the stairs. The noise becomes deafening and it seems like he has a crowd for his execution.

How quaint.

They pass through a red stone arch into the outside and he’s immediately assaulted by the harsh kiss of the sun and silty dust kicked up into the air. Thousands of people, dressed in browns and yellows and oranges that pay the sun tribute, line the arena stands, jeering and waving and screaming in his direction, hurling insults in a language he doesn’t understand. Objects – lumps of wood and old food and some kind of polished beads – are dropped on him from above as he emerges from the arch.

He feels exposed in a way only a foreigner in a strange, hostile world can. He’s an outsider here, and while the nuances of his abuse escape him, he can take a guess at their meaning. Schooling his face into a blank mask of indifference is second nature and he sets his shoulders back as he’s led towards the centre of the dust bowl where four tall pillars of the same kind of red sandstone stand tall. Dry hands drag a chain around the side of the middle pillar, connecting them to his manacles, and drawing them high above his head. His guards click an insult at him before leaving him there, alone.

But not for long. He looks at his surroundings in time to see Dooku appear on a balcony with who he presumes is the King of Geonosis. Evidently, an alliance has taken place. Dooku raises his hands for silence and the noise recedes on command. Words are said, but Obi-Wan doesn’t understand them because the acoustics in the bowl are distorted, and then the King speaks to his people and he _really_ doesn’t understand what’s said because the language is strange to his ears.

A gate on the far end of the arena is drawn up and a cheer reverberates back to life. Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a moment and simply breathes. He has no doubt this is the end, the prospect of escape is bleak and he refuses to go down without a fight – he is a JEDI after all – but that doesn’t mean he isn’t realistic. This is the time where most people would begin to pray, but he doesn’t believe in any gods or goddesses or divine being watching over him. The closest thing he has to a faith is the JEDI Code.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

And a code is all well and good, and it is useful to remind one’s self to be peaceful in the midst of a fight, a remembrance to not go too far, not to cause more harm than necessary. But it’s another thing entirely to look death in the eye and feel peace. He’s not there yet; he’s still young, still has things to do and people to live for. How can he go to his death peacefully, knowing it will mean leaving Anakin alone?

He wouldn’t say he’s ready to die. There’s still so much he needs to do and Dooku’s parting words to him echo around his mind. Words that will die with him before he has a chance to pass them on.

_The Republic is under control of the Dark Lord of the SITH._

There is nothing he can do to stop it and he’s more than aware that a SITH Lord will reap nothing but death and destruction wherever they go. He feels guilt at leaving that on his brethren, at leaving them with so much work and responsibility while he shirks his own with death.

_Hundreds of senators are under the control of Darth Sidious._

When he opens his eyes it’s to see a large insectoid beast scampering towards him, ridges of needle-like teeth on display. Its arms are long, sharp blades and its eyes are set into the front of its head – a natural predator. He settles his stance into something more defensive, even if his arms jerk his weight awkwardly backwards.

His main regret is more selfish than anything; he wishes he’d had the chance to say goodbye to Anakin and he thinks that if there is anything beyond this life, leaving Anakin alone to face the world will haunt him the most. At least his brother will have Ahsoka. The two of them will look after each other, that he knows. He finds he wishes he’d had the chance to say goodbye to Ahsoka too, and that surprises him. He may not have known her that long, but she and Anakin are fast friends, and Obi-Wan is surprised to find when he thinks about it with his death on the line, he’s grown close to her too.

The insectoid skids to a cautious stop several metres away, and eyes him wearily. This close, Obi-Wan can see the scars on the insect’s shell that look suspiciously like whip and cane marks. Neither of them, it seems, want to fight, which his captors don’t find acceptable at all. One of them rides out on an equine mount to poke the insectoid with an electric prod, a trail of dust hanging in their wake. The beast shrieks in rage and its attention is directed away from Obi-Wan. The equine skitters backwards in fright as the rider loses control and the beast lashes out, ripping the rider from their mount.

The audience only cheers for their dying cries.

There’s a crunch of bones and this close, Obi-Wan can hear them splinter. He doesn’t even feel sick because he’s seen far worse. Then the beady eyes are fixing back upon him and this time, there’s no hesitation. A razor-edged arm swings towards him and he steps to the side to avoid the backswing. The beast’s arm catches on the chain and he’s pulled roughly forwards as it struggles to break free. The chain is the first thing to give and without the tension to hold him up, Obi-Wan falls forwards.

Dust explodes in his mouth as his forearm and knees take the brunt of his fall, but he’s already reflexively rolling away from the beast’s next strike. He finds himself next to the fallen rider’s spear and he grabs it as he stands. His grip is fumbling because his hands are still bound and the trailing end of the broken chain keeps wrapping around his leg, but he manages to get the spear between them and the sharp end pointing at the beast.

It doesn’t seem to like the development of Obi-Wan gaining a claw of his own and has the gall to look putout. It snaps at him again and he steps back maintaining the distance.

The noise of the crowd shifts to something more outraged, and Obi-Wan spares a fraction of a second to look away from the beast. Soldiers, hundreds of them, are spilling out of the gates of the arena and into the bowl, wearing the hardened red leather armour of the Geonosian King’s guard.

 _Fuck_.

Well, he never expected to survive. He’s fucked enough that he glares warningly at the beast and risks a second glance.

And then it becomes apparent they’re being _chased_ , by _JEDI_.

 _Plural_.

The very same JEDI that only occupy one battlefield a piece and rarely work together because of the sheer demand for their skills. The ones that should be scattered around the globe, wading through the quagmire of a not-quite war. The Academy and the barracks they should be stationed at are arguably all the more vulnerable for their absence. The troops they should be leading, suddenly idle. The dangerous and high-profile missions and political negotiations they should be guiding, now in chaos.

It seems they took his emergency message as seriously as it was needed to be.

A commotion in the corner of his eye draws his attention just to the right of the beast’s head, to the King’s balcony in times to see High General Windu drawing his weapon to the back of Dooku’s head. There’s a war cry uttered – he can’t tell by which side – and then the first shot is fired. Ceremonial spears are dropped and blasters are drawn on behalf of the King’s Guard and the JEDI shoulder their own weapons. Then the beast lurches in his direction and his attention is drawn away from the bigger fight.

They dart and weave around each other, and it’s one of the more frustrating of his fights. The beast doesn’t want to approach the spear and he struggles to wield it in any kind of recognised discipline with his hands bound. Oddly, it’s not a skill the Academy taught.

Then someone is encroaching on his back and he nearly swings the spear round to take their head off, only for it to be someone dressed in the black uniform of the JEDI. He doesn’t recognise them, but they’re young enough to have just received their first solo command. Obi-Wan whips around to slam the spear into the beast’s head as it tries to bite him, knocking its teeth off target. The young General fires a slug into its open mouth and the beast howls and retreats backwards a couple of steps.

“Here,” the other JEDI draws a bowie knife from his belt and gestures for Obi-Wan’s hands.

He extends them without taking his eyes off the beast and the young general inserts the blade between the manacles and twists. They fall apart and Obi-Wan shakes his wrists, spinning the weight of the spear experimentally in his free hands as he gets a feel for it.

“Thanks.”

The young General nods and turns back to the fight, guarding Obi-Wan’s back from a rear attack.

The beast is rallying for another push, lowering its head in warning, even if it doesn’t quite paw the ground. He’s so focused on not becoming pet food that he doesn’t even fully register the cry of warning until it’s too late. The first explosion is far enough away that all that reaches him is the sand carried by the blast, but the second one is much closer and he’s knocked off his feet by the shock wave as another hits one of the pillars and chunks of stone are thrown everywhere. One ricochets off his arm with a bruising thump and another catches him in the back off his skull hard enough that the ground close to his face tips and turns as if it’s quaking.

He can taste blood where he’s bitten his tongue and a ringing in his ears that drowns out all sound beneath its keening pitch. Three feet away, the young general looks at him with unseeing glassy eyes, an entire section of his forehead simply _missing_.

The King is bombing his own people to kill the JEDI.

The ground is vibrating, and he can feel the impact of the bombs as they fall, some of them close enough to scorch. It’s training that kills the panic before it can be fatal, and Obi-Wan pushes himself to his feet. More people are coming out of the gates, soldiers in a uniform that can only be Mandalorian, their distinctive pieces of body armour painted in a vibrant orange far less of an eyesore than the Geonosian sky or the planet’s staple rock. They’re flooding the stands too, chasing away the last of the Geonosian spectators, converging on the King’s balcony with a clear sense of purpose.

In the face of it, the King’s Guard are turning to flee, only to find their way blocked by the sheer number of people crowded into the arena. And still the bombs fall, indiscriminately on the flesh below.

Then the beast’s gnashing teeth are inches away from his face and Obi-Wan finds he’s dropped his spear, but he’s next to the young general, and the knife is still on his belt. It’s perfectly balanced in his hand, and Obi-Wan has never really been a knife person – for his own sign of appointment, he forged a bastard swords, and the Geonosians took it off him when he was captured – but he wonders if he’s hastily dismissed them.

It’s not ideal to fight a giant insectoid protected by a hard shell and pointed teeth, because it means he has to get close to it, but he manages to parry the beast’s forearms away from his face with the flat of the blade. Another bomb falls a few feet away, and one moment Obi-Wan is fighting and the next moment his vision goes black and there’s a dull pain in his legs and something crushing his ribs so he can’t breathe. His vision returns and there’s something large and metal pinning him down. It looks a bit like part of a ship’s hull, and he wonders distractedly if it’s from one of the bombers strafing the sky.

The beast, it seems, doesn’t have that problem, and it’s crawling towards him on the remaining four of its legs – one of it’s front and middle legs are both mission, and yellow pussy blood oozes from the wounds – its eyes just as cold as before. Obi-Wan struggles to pull his arms free of their confines, and he manages to get his right one out to brandish the knife warningly, but the other doesn’t budge.

Then his knight in shining armour steps between the two of them, firing at the insectoid so that it scampers backwards in alarm and beats a hasty retreat in the cloud of red dust that shrouds the fight. Obi-Wan drops his head back to the ground, panting as he tries to get back his breath.

“Are you alright?”

The voice is heavily distorted by the helmet the man wears, and as Obi-Wan chokes on airborne sand he envies the extra protection.

“I think so,” he finds himself saying.

In truth, he isn’t quite so sure. He’s stopped being able to feel his legs at all, and there’s an odd static working its way steadily up his body. Then the man is throwing himself over Obi-Wan and the world goes dark. The sound of shrapnel pinging off that customary Mandalorian armour is all he can hear besides the screams that could belong to any side.

When the light returns, it’s darker than he remembers. The sun is being blocked out by thick swirls of debris and sand hanging in the air. Obi-Wan can just about make out scorch marks on the man’s armour from the danger end of a bomb, as he drops to try and lift the sheets of metal off Obi-Wan. He grunts from the effort, and Obi-Wan is impressed when the metal shifts at all. It’s only a few inches, but it’s enough give for him to wriggle free. The man is groaning with the sustained effort, and he drops the load with evident relief when Obi-Wan managed to drag himself free.

Blood seeps back into circulation and the static feeling becomes fuzzy and then outright painful as needles begin to worm their way under his skin and he gasps through the strain. Another bomb falls slightly further away, and the man turns to him urgently.

“Can you stand?”

A little pain has never stopped him before. “I think so.”

Shakily, with the aid of the man’s arm, he’s dragged to his feet and takes a moment to confirm his balance.

“Thanks.”

The Mandalorian just nods and then ducks from the fallout of another impact, instinctively shielding Obi-Wan with his body.

“We need to get out of here,” he says, checking something on his vambrace – who fights with vambraces in this modern era? – before looking back to Obi-Wan. “Dooku has just fled with a small defence force mainly made up of the Geonosian Guard. The King is in custody.”

Obi-Wan swears and forces himself to stand on his own two feet. If the man has reports feeding directly to his person, then he must be high up in the army. “Does intelligence know where?”

“Towards the old citadel.”

Obi-Wan is familiar with it. He follows, shielded at the man’s side by his armour, as the man runs from the arena, leading them to the next part of the fight.

Much, much later. After the chase with Dooku and the subsequent, infuriating escape even High General Yoda couldn’t prevent, Obi-Wan finds himself sat on a rock outside of the triage area that’s been set up, looking out over the remnants of the battle. Figures guide gurneys through the damage and debris, collecting bodies. They stopped finding the living hours ago. Obi-Wan had helped for a while, before he’d been firmly told to sit down the third time he’d nearly collapsed from exhaustion.

His own people are still pulling themselves together, and he’s done all he can in that respect. He’s given his field report to the remnants of the Council, as best as he could, and they’d sent him on to get checked out by a medic, but he can’t bring himself to take the spot of someone who might need it. Not now. Not after this.

“Hey.”

He looks up to see the Mandalorian from earlier walking towards him, limping ever so slightly. The man removes his helmet as he approaches – and, _oh_ – to reveal a dirt streaked face that tells Obi-Wan either the filters in his helmet must have failed or the seal has broken. His skin is tanned by a kinder sun than the one that beats here, and there’s a thick scar the wraps around the side of his face, close to his eye. Thick black curls are kept under tight control by a military haircut.

“Hi.” _Hello there_.

“How are you doing?” The man stops in front of him, helmet resting on his hip, just at the right level for Obi-Wan to see the small sunburst painted there. Without the distortion from the helmet, the man’s voice is rich and heavily accented. If Obi-Wan had to hazard a guess, he’d say the man’s first language isn’t Basic (one guess as to what it really is).

For a moment Obi-Wan is too preoccupied to realise he’s been asked a question. “You know.” He shrugs and offers a tired smile.

“I do,” the man agrees.

There’s an awkward beat of silence and Obi-Wan’s just about to ask if _he’s_ alright when the other man speaks.

“I thought I better come and see what all this commotion was about.” He says it with humour, but his curiosity is genuine. “Commander Fett.”

So this is the man that leads the 7th Sky Corps and Mandalore’s GAR forces. He has heard stories, mostly from Quinlan and his Shadows, but enough to pique his interest. Of all the people to be rescued by, he really can’t complain.

The view isn’t bad either.

“General Kenobi.” He replies easily. “What have you concluded?”

“That someone was fighting over a pretty face.”

Obi-Wan takes a moment to realise the man is _flirting_ with him, because that’s usually _his_ move. He snorts; he knows exactly what he looks like. Days of starvation and dehydration, coupled with the dust and blood and sweat of the battlefield leaves him with no illusions. He’s pretty sure the black stuff in his hair is engine oil from that piece of hull to top everything off. Hell, even Windu had raised an eyebrow at his appearance. “Oh?” he says, “and here’s me thinking it was the finer nuances of politics.”

“Nah, pretty face,” Fett insists.

“Well,” Obi-wan huffs, “they tried awfully hard to blow my pretty face _off_.”

“Wouldn’t that have been a shame,” Fett drawls and it does funny things to his insides it’s not supposed to.

“Thank you, by the way,” he adds more seriously. “For saving me before.”

The man just smiles and offers his arm. “Cody,” he says.

Obi-Wan grips his forearm and returns the greeting. “Obi-Wan.”

That, apparently, is more than either his brain or his body can take because his visions blacks out while he’s still _sitting down_ , and he slumps forwards. Commander- Cody catches him, but not before his knees jolt against the floor, and his addled mind betrays him by thinking _this is nice_ as Cody holds him. The plate of Cody’s pauldron digs against his cheek, but it’s cool and soothing.

Yeah, maybe he should go get checked out.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Obi-Wan is so glad Quinlan isn’t here right now, he’d never hear the end of it. It’s almost bad enough that he can imagine what he’d say. _Swooning already, Kenobi, you’ve only just introduced yourself_.

“’M sorry,” he manages and Cody – the angel – just laughs it off.

“You’ve not exactly been here on time-off, have you?” Cody pulls him to his feet, one of Obi-Wan’s arms over his shoulder for support. “I think it’s best we get you to medical before you achieve what Dooku couldn’t.”

It’s not exactly like he’s going to tell this beautiful saviour _no_ , is it?

The assessing medic takes one look at them and sighs, and Obi-Wan knows exactly how she feels. She gets Cody to assist him to one of the pods within the tent, and sit him on the foldable bed, before disappearing again.

“I’m terribly sorry about this.”

“Not at all,” Cody tells him. “Truth be told, you’re doing me a favour.”

He might have lost a bit of blood, but he’s surely not that confused. “I am?”

“Yeah.” Cody waves his vambrace. “You’re giving me an excuse to put off a call I’d rather not take.”

“Anyone important?”

“Yeah,” Cody’s voice goes soft. “My brother. The dir’kut warned me something was going to happen the second they put me in charge of an army. Guess he was right and I’m not particularly looking forward to telling him so. He’s going to be insufferable.”

Obi-Wan wonders what it would be like to have a brother like that. He doesn’t think either Quinlan, Garen or Reeft count in that respect. They’re more friends. “At least you’re around to tell him.” He winces as soon as he’s said it, because trust him to bring the mood down, but Cody doesn’t seem to resent him for it.

“That is very true. I’ll be sure to remind him of it.”

They fall into silence and Obi-Wan can hear the hustle of the medical staff running around on the other side of the canvas, shouting orders across each other in a dance of organised chaos. He doesn’t pity the monumental task before them. The one _he_ helped to create.

“How bad is it?” He doesn’t dare to ask, but it’s not something he can hide from, and Cody seems to understand him anyway.

The Commander sighs, and it sounds tired. “Too many.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly and is sounds so, _so_ inadequate, even to his own ears.

“Did you pull the trigger?” Cody asks.

“Well, no, but-”

“They it’s not you that has something to apologise for.”

“If I hadn’t-”

Cody looks at him and he immediately gets the sense he needs to _shut up_. “I wouldn’t expend all of your guilt now, there will be plenty of it needed in the war to come.”

His says it with such _sincerity_ …

“You really think war will come of this?” he asks.

“I think, Obi-Wan, that it’s just started.”

And there’s one inescapable truth; the blood cooling on the Geonosian sand is his fault. If he’d been better, faster, smarter then so many would not have died. And had he taken the honourable way out in that cell before it all started, then hundreds would not have died in his name. Cody’s people and his own, would not have had to die side by side, and the potential hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, that will die if the war does come… their death will be on him too.

***

Kix huffs with discontent and idly taps at the sill of the window, boredom beginning to win out against conviction. Wind whips through the smashed panes of glass, and this high up it’s icy cold and unforgiving. He shivers and pulls the scarf he wears up around his ears, muttering bad tempered threats to the weather.

Obi-Wan smiles from the bed, flicking through the book he’s salvaged from the bedside table, trying to make out the words in the dying light. They daren’t risk any light sources this close to the compound, in case they bring the Clankers down upon themselves. They’re strictly here to observe, to learn about their enemy so they can strike when the time is right. Which means a fight would be bad, no matter how much he wants to deck _something_ to ease his nerves.

Instead, he routes through his bag until he finds the stubby pencil free at the bottom and writes something on the inside cover, before tucking it safely in his bag. He thinks Ahsoka might like it and her birthday _is_ coming up. All the hope and optimism space exploration offers, and the wealth of new worlds and better times it eludes to – he thinks it’s something they could all do with. He almost wishes he could flee to the stars, like the heroine of the story. New beginnings, that’s what he really wants.

The apartment they’ve chosen as their vantage point has been stripped of everything the Clankers thought useful. It’s been turned over from top to bottom, and they even had to right the bedframe when they claimed it, with the idea that one person could sleep while the other was on watch. Not that Obi-Wan is having any more luck sleeping here than he did back in the bunker. What he does manage to snatch is filled with blood and screams and familiar red dust. And, somewhere, an accented voice that is so at odds with everything else, telling him it will all be alright, eventually, even if it isn’t now.

It’s been two days of watching and waiting, observing the compound five stories below them and it’s not even the most tedious thing he’s ever done. The stakes are far too high for that.

They’ve learnt many things to add to the map upon their return. Like how the Clankers have fenced off the stretch of road between the two buildings, doing the double service of creating a courtyard for the breaking in of their newest recruits and blocking off the road so they have complete control of who passes through. They know that the recruits are herded everywhere by fully fledged Clankers, and that exercise and training are done in large groups. Which, in his experience, makes this compound far more vulnerable than others because partially brainwashed muscle can be _unpredictable_. They don’t have enough conviction yet to blindly follow a creed nor enough confidence to trust their own definition of what’s right anymore. They also know when mealtimes are, they know rough numbers and the time the supply trucks arrive every morning. They know lots of information.

And none of it brings them any closer to getting to Anakin and Ahsoka. Force he hopes they’re alright. Neither of them have been spotted yet, and he’s starting to worry they might not be here at all.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Kix growls.

“You got a remedy for that, _doctor_?”

He finds Kix hard to read sometimes. Of all of the Fett brothers, with the exception of Boba who is in a category of his own, Kix is the one he had the least rapport with before and so he struggles to see where he stands with him now. Rex is and has always been, Cody’s closest brother and best friend, and usually they reflect each other’s train of thought. If they don’t for some reason, they always have the other’s best interests at heart. Echo and Fives are the ones to wreck the most mischief and havoc, but are essentially harmless unless given pyrotechnics. Boba had been a small child trailing behind his brothers’ destructive wake before, begging to be involved, and now? Obi-Wan thinks he’s gained a footing of his own. Kix has always been the most removed from all that, the one to stand back and observe from afar, getting involved only when bodily harm started to occur.

After nearly forty-eight hours alone in Kix’s company, Obi-Wan feels he understands him slightly more, if only enough to confirm he’s a sarcastic shit with a vindictive streak a mile wide that he directs solely at the people he likes – at least, Obi-Wan _thinks_ Kix likes him – and naturally, he’s reacted in turn.

“I’m no doctor,” Kix counters wryly, “but I’d say sleep might help.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t push. If Kix wants to play semantics, he’s not going to get involved. The kid nearly finished medical school _and_ he has extensive field experience. That’s good enough for everyone else to rely on him. “Relief should be here soon anyway.”

Kix hums absent mindedly as he looks back out the window. “They better be.”

Obi-Wan stands to stretch his legs, venturing into the small kitchen adjacent to the bedroom to grab the thermos, and pours himself some of that god-awful caff concoction. It’s barely warm anymore, but it’s still warmer than either of them are. The weather up here reminds him a bit of his negotiation stint in Pantora. The cold isn’t quite as oppressive, but the air bites and saps all the surfaces of any warmth in the same way, even if the crystal-shine of frost is absent. His fingers are sore and white, even shoved into his pockets or wrapped around the thermos, like they had been under his extreme weather gloves. The leather of his jacket only protects him from the reach of the wind, but does little to retain his body heat.

He stands behind Kix’s shoulder, watching as the fires in the compound burst to life with the systematic efficiency of a well-practised routine. The Clankers are shifting into their night cycle. Which makes it nearly forty-eight hours they’ve been up hear and still _nothing_. He takes a sip and the caff is as bitter and grainy as before, so he offers it to a grateful Kix.

“Anything of interest?”

“Nothing.”

Obi-Wan sighs. This is beginning to feel an awful lot like a waste of time. If they’re not here and they’re staking out an irrelevant target, if he was _wrong_ about Ahsoka’s message, then he’s wasted days of their time and they’re no closer to finding them.

There’s the heavy thud of dual footsteps in the corridor. He’s not overly worried about discovery but he grabs his rifle from where it leans against the bed to go and investigate all the same. It’s just Rex and Cody, who raise their hands in appeasement as he drops his muzzle.

“Anything?” Cody asks, ever efficient.

“No.”

Rex pushes past him into the apartment, bracing himself against the embrace of the cold inside.

Cody hangs in the doorway, looking him over. He looks better for rest and food, though still paler than usual in a way that can’t be solely attributed to living under ground. His hair is beginning to border on long by Cody’s standard which, admittedly, isn’t that bad, but the curls are beginning to gain traction and break their formation. Were they in any other circumstance, Obi-Wan might say it makes him look almost relaxed and he has half a mind to get the scissor from Kix for him. Cody would never want to be caught so at ease.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Cody says. Concern is etched on his face and Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt he means well, but neither of them can claim he’s telling the truth.

“I’m sure they are.” He tries so, so hard to convince himself.

Inside Rex and Kix are talking in hushed voices. Rex has commandeered the caff and clutches it close to his chest. He turns to look at Obi-Wan as he and Cody enter.

“Dad and Boba have gone to relieve Padmé and Aayla, so if you go down to the junction you should be able to meet up with them.”

He nods in thanks and moves to collect his things. He may be disappointed, but he’ll be glad to get out of this room. The cracks in the paint are starting to taunt him with how pointless this could all be.

Cody moves to replace Kix’s position and set up his own weapon, when Kix stills and raises a hand to stop him, peering intently down his scope.

“There’s something…”

Obi-Wan is behind him in a second, craning his neck to peer out of the window. There looks to be movement down in the yard, possibly a fight of some kind, but from this distance he can’t make out anything more than that. A canopy blocks part of their view, a tarpaulin tied between two raised walkways to create a shelter.

“It looks like… they’re disciplining someone?” Kix ventures.

“How?” Rex asks.

All of them have had enough experiences for the worst to jump to the forefront of their mind.

“I can’t tell. They seem to be tying them down? A beating?”

Cody curses and looks over to Obi-Wan in question. Obi-Wan nods in agreement.

“Stay here, we won’t be long,” Cody tell Rex. “Keep us covered.”

“Wait, what are you- you are _not_ going down there,” Rex challenges.

“We won’t be long, and we won’t confront anyone,” Obi-Wan promises. They need to get closer, to get a better look, because anything that’s a break from the normal routine of things is important and they can’t see from here. What it is exactly that triggers the Clankers is something they need to know.

The way Cody drops his bag and procures two ammo clips, shoving the spares into his jacket in lew of webbing, brooks no argument. Obi-Wan follows his lead and shoulders his bag. Cody stands and peers out the window once, just to make sure, and then turns to leave, Obi-Wan at his side. Rex’s cursing falls on deaf ears and Obi-Wan thinks he hears Kix offer a comisaratory word before they leave the flat and the sound is stifled.

He doesn’t ask if Cody is sure about this, he doesn’t need to.

They run down the stairs and when Obi-Wan jumps over the last banister to save time, Cody follows a second behind. The lobby to the building is bared to the elements by the fact that its front doors have long since been stripped away, and the pair emerge on to the road, keeping to the growing shadows the buildings cast. When they join the main street the Clankers have blockaded, they slow and Obi-Wan peers around the corner of an artisan coffee shop to check the coast is clear.

Guards line the improvised ramparts and more cover the gates. There are three Clankers beyond the fence line, talking out in the open, expecting no kind of attack. And they knew all of this of course, they haven’t been idle, but it’s frustrating all the same.

“No good?” Cody asks.

He leans back around the side of the building in time to hear the first scream of such complete and utter terror that it makes his blood _curdle_. He’s almost sure that sounds like Ahsoka and the only confirmation he needs is the way Cody flinches violently too, because he wouldn’t react that way to just anyone. Neither of them are _Shinies_.

“We need to get there, now,” Cody growls and Obi-Wan doesn’t disagree.

But it’s not like the two of them can just break into the compound – hell, it’s not like the ten of them could take it, not even with two JEDI, a marshall commander, a captain, a queen-turned-senator, and the kriffing Mand’alor. From what they can tell, they’re out numbered five to one and that’s if they send Boba into the fight. Which they are _not_.

Obi-Wan tries to think. They can’t force their way in, but they might be able to trick their way closer at the very least.

“Can you cover me to the gate from here?”

“I can do my best,” Cody replies, because Cody’s never made a promise he can’t keep, and there are a lot of guns that could point his way from a lot of directions.

“Good.” He drops his bag and pulls out the respirator he took from the dead Clanker. “Please try not to shoot me while you’re at it.”

Cody looks at the mask and then at Obi-Wan, but whether or not he’s going to say anything is lost because there’s another shriek of fear and something that sounds like a name being shouted in desperation. Cody sets his mouth resolutely and motions for Obi-Wan to hurry up.

The mask is constricting, even before he has chance to tighten the straps. The air inside tastes like burnt rubber and his own breathing sounds harsh and loud, while all other sounds seem distant and removed. His peripheral vision is lost, and the lenses this close to his face are already giving him a head ache. How anyone could stand this all day, everyday is beyond him.

He gives Cody a last look – because if he’s going to die, he wants one last good thing on his mind before he does – then he turns and saunters out into the road, slipping into the confident stride of someone who is exactly where they’re supposed to be. The group of Clankers turn to look at him, raising their weapons and then lowering them again as they recognize of one of their own.

“We’re not scheduled anything,” one of them, the one with a stripe painted down one side of their mask – a kind of rank? – says with authority.

“Urgent business,” he bullshits, drawing to a stop by them. “The Lady wanted me to deliver a message to the boss here.”

The one in charge shifts their posture in suspicion. “Where’s your escort?”

“They got side-tracked,” he offers. “By the dead.”

He can’t see her eyes, but can feel them narrow. “We’ve cleared this zone out, we know our duty.”

“Tell that to them.”

_“ANAKIN!”_

This time and this close he’s in absolutely no doubt as to the name being screamed and it feeds the nauseating horror seeping into his bones. Thick dread pools in his stomach because the sound is tortured and terrified and he’s never heard Ahsoka sound like that before. The Clankers don’t miss the way his attention flickers away from them either.

“We’re teaching one of the new recruits their place.” She says. “Struck a superior officer – _the_ superior officer.”

 _Anakin, you karking idiot_.

“I need to go and speak to whoever is in charge here.”

They give him odd looks, and granted he should probably know how their rank structure works if he’s pretending to be one of them, but he’s only got so much to work with and a hefty time constraint.

“That would be me.”

_Of course, it is._

_“STOP PLEASE!”_ Ahsoka never, ever begs and she never sounds so uncertain of herself.

And that is what ultimately convinces him they’ve run out of time. There are very few options open to him in that moment and he tries to summon remorse as he swings up his rifle and fires at the leader in a single movement, turning to catch the second Clanker in the temple with his barrel and follow through with a bullet before the third can even register their leader is dead at their feet.

He needs to divert their attention away from whatever they are doing that occupies them inside, away from Anakin and Ahsoka. What better way to do that than by killing their boss? He sends a silent apology to Rex for breaking his word and prayer to Cody to have his back.

The third comes to their senses, but seems to forget what a rifle is for and tries to hit him with it instead. Obi-Wan ducks and smashes their balance with the butt of his weapon on his way back up. The Clanker crumples unconscious to the floor. The guards on ramparts have finally clocked what’s happening and started to fire back at him, but he’s already moving away from the scene of his crime, towards the gates, zagging because there’s no cover. The lip of the ramparts prevents them from getting a clean shot at him when he’s pressed his body against the mesh of the gate.

There’s a sudden clamour of motion on the other side, and he cans see several Clankers making a beeline for his position. Something drops from above and he turns to see as one of the guards above the gate falls by his feet from a shot he didn’t fire, and Obi-Wan knows Cody isn’t far behind him. But the gates are heavily bound shut with thick chains – which may or may not be to keep people in, but it works both ways – and he can’t ram them open because someone has piled crates behind them in a makeshift barricade.

Fuck.

He’s in no position to storm the gates, and the guards inside have finally got their act together and are shooting at him from behind their own cover.

 _Fuck_.

He’s not stupid, he knows he can’t help them if he’s dead.

He just hopes he’s provided enough of a distraction that they forget about whatever they were doing to his family.

He flattens himself against the ground, behinds the cover of the crates on the other side of the gate, tucking in stray limbs to avoid giving the Clankers a clear line of sight. He has no grenades or explosives or anything that can provide a bigger distraction, and he curses his own inadequacy. As spontaneous contact goes, it’s not his finest.

He can see Cody leaning out around the corner of the coffee shop to intermittently fire back. It’s not the best place to provide covering fire, but he’s doing his best – which is considerable – and shooting looks in Obi-Wan’s direction that he’s too far away to see properly but knows scream _murder_. There’s also a gesture there that takes him a moment to decipher, because it’s a highly specific hand signal used only by Mandalorian Commandos and he might be a little rusty.

_Stay down, twenty seconds._

Well, if Cody insists. He has no desire to poke his head above the metaphorical ramparts. He signs back an _affirmative_. There’s a staccato of fire that echoes off the buildings on both sides of the road, and it takes him a moment to find the source – someone opposite Cody’s position, joining the fight. Behind him one of the Clankers scream in frustration and he knows it can be nothing good. Then there are hands ripping the crates away so they can’t provide him any cover. He twists awkwardly from his stomach to his back to get a better angle to shoot them before they can shoot him, but then he sees the number of people that are crouched providing cover for their comrade and he decides it’s not worth it.

Cody frantically tries to get his attention, beckoning him forward. “Come on!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He rockets to his feet and runs, darting unpredictably and doing his best to not get shot as he sprints back to Cody. The open ground stretches impossibly far before him and the thunks of contact that bite at his heels are far too close, and he knows he’s never going to make it, until he does and Cody’s reaching out a hand to grab the lapels of his jacket and pull him the last few feet to safety, shoving him behind Rex and Kix who have apparently come down from their perch.

“We need to leave _now_ ,” Cody growls, darting back around the building to fire several warning shots.

“Agreed,” Rex says tightly.

Across the street Jango, Padmé and Aayla shield Boba as they take turns laying down suppressive fire, and it seems he’s inadvertently forced their hand. There won’t be any more reconnaissance here.

“Don’t worry about them, they’ll meet us by the junction,” Rex says and then turns and runs down the road away from the danger, dragging Kix by the sleeve after him.

Obi-Wan hesitates for a second, every instinct telling him not to run, not to leave Anakin and Ahsoka behind when they so clearly need him. He can’t hear anymore screams but that doesn’t mean _anything_.

“We can’t help them for now,” Cody says urgently, turning his back from the fight to grip Obi-Wan tightly by the shoulder and look him in the eye, because he’s apparently frozen like a karking _shiny_. “If we want to be able to help them, we need to survive. We need to _leave_.”

He swore he would never leave them, that there was nothing that would keep him from coming to their side. But the look on Cody’s face brings him back to the stark reality that they need to regroup if they’re going to manage to pull themselves together enough to get them out. They need to come up with a solid plan, a fool proof one that doesn’t involve a suicide run. He _knows_ he needs to leave and it pains him.

Obi-Wan turns on his heel and follows Rex and Kix, ripping the mask off his face so he can _breathe_ properly.

He can hear Cody behind him and the thunder of their boots as they run. As they _flee_. They catch up with Rex and Kix and they keep running until the sound of the gunfire stops and they’re at the junction where the others are already waiting. As they skid to a stop there’s a sound so guttural and ethereal that Obi-Wan knows he’s never going to forget it as long as he lives. It’s almost inhuman but it isn’t one of the dead. It’s a sound warped by disbelief and grief and its echo rebounds down the street, startling a flock of pigeons into flight.

Obi-Wan has no doubt he’s as white as a sheet and he knows he’s trembling, like Cody.

Because that was _Ahsoka_.

Oh _Force_.

All thoughts of planning and waiting for the right moment take a running dive out of a window.

Cody’s mask of hostile indifference slips and what lies beneath makes him look young and fearful – for a heartbeat, he looks almost naïve with his emotions bared, as his mind flicks through endless causes and possibilities, each increasingly worse. Then the shutters slam shut, and the look is replaced by the anger he shrouds close for his own self-preservation.

It’s safe to say Cody is _pissed_.

He rounds on Obi-Wan and takes advantage of the few inches he has in height to bare down on him. It’s very, very rare that Cody loses control and Obi-Wan’s only ever seen him do so once, when he returned after his last mission, and what’s beneath has the capacity to be truly terrifying. Because what it takes to make Cody lose his control in the first place is enough to drive most to insanity. And he’s just heard someone he considers to be his daughter scream in anguish.

“What the fuck was _that_?” he asks quietly, each word carefully enunciated. The effort is takes for him to maintain any semblance of control makes the vein in his forehead throb and Obi-Wan swallows subconsciously.

He wants to cower in the face of Cody’s rage, not because he’s afraid of anger or the maelstrom of another person’s emotions, but because it’s _Cody_ and it’s directed at _him_. If Dooku levelled him with the same stare, Obi-Wan wouldn’t even blink.

But he doesn’t cower, because he was trained far better than that and he reaches on to the next productive emotion he can grasp. His own anger.

“That,” he spits, “was me doing something.”

He had to do something and the only thing he’d been able to do to help his family was serve as a distraction. It’s not like he enjoys being helpless.

“You could have got us all killed,” Cody says coldly.

“None of you needed to be involved, you’ve all made it explicitly clear you want nothing to do with us.” He knows that’s not strictly true because they’re here, now, and they’ve spent the last two days staking out a base specifically to find his family. But all he can think about are Jango’s words and the insistence that they are nothing more than acquaintances – allies, but not friends.

“Can you blame us?”

Oh, that’s a low blow, even if it’s deserved.

It was Cody, not Obi-Wan who asked if they could be civil, and it’s Cody not Obi-Wan who is the first to break the truce. He has witnesses to attest to that.

“No,” he snaps, “I can’t. But I look after my own because that’s what family _does_. They don’t give up on each other and they don’t walk away.”

Cody looks like he’s been slapped and there’s a small, feral part of him that relishes in it. And that only makes him hate himself all the more. Because he knows better than this; he’s lost control of himself and allowed his emotions to run riot and that’s a discredit to everything he’s been taught. There’s just something about Cody that seems to back him up against the edge and then _push_ him over.

Obi-Wan breathes in deeply and closes his eyes for a second, taking a step back to create a physical distance between them. “I’m sorry,” he says just as quietly as before, but without the venom. “That was uncalled for.”

Cody doesn’t reply, but breathes deeply and doesn’t blink, grinding his jaw unsubtly. Rex hovers by his shoulder, letting his brother fight his own battles, but willing to step in the second he’s needed. Everyone else stands off to the side, varying levels of shock (Padmé and Secura) and malicious satisfaction (Jango and Boba) and pity (Kix) visible on their faces.

Suddenly he feels thrice his age, worn and tired and just so _done_ with _everything_ that his shoulders sag and he drops his gaze. The mask is still in his hand and it makes something bubble inside, stirring everything else that’s already going on.

“I won’t- I _can’t_ leave them,” he says softly, looking at the mask and avoiding their gazes. “I’m sorry I dragged any of you into this, really, I am. But I have to go to them. They’re in pain and I can stop it.”

There’s one option left open to them – he can take the SITH’s offer of replacing one of his family. And he knows that means he has to choose which, but he can’t do _nothing_. Not after he’s just heard _that_.

“You can’t go alone.”

He doesn’t realise who’s spoken at first and when he looks up to meet Cody’s eyes, he finds all his anger has bled away, leaving only pain and something that looks suspiciously like regret behind. He might not be the only one who’s tired.

Obi-Wan smiles ruefully. “I think it’s quite clear I don’t have a choice.”

Cody rolls his eyes in frustration. “No, I mean you _can’t_ go alone.” It’s true they were never the best at talking – for all he was supposed to be a wordsmith – and it seems they’re not about to start improving now. Cody turns to Aayla. “It worked didn’t it, they kept their word? They took Bly and they let you go.”

Hurt flickers for a moment, and it seems even Aayla isn’t unaffected by the charged air, or the way boundaries bow in the face of uncertainty. “I guess so.”

“Right,” Cody says and turns to Obi-Wan, “so we go together.”

“Cody-”

“You can’t save them both alone, you know that. And I’m coming willingly. You know what she means to me and I know what your brother means to you. Let me do this.”

Obi-Wan looks into Cody’s eyes and he finds… he finds he believes Cody’s words and that Cody _understands_ what he’s offering. He knows it’s not a light favour but something much more weighted. Cody is fully aware he’s offering up his freedom for someone else, someone he doesn’t even particularly like (he and Anakin never saw eye to eye – his brother though Cody was a regulation following kill-joy and Cody just thought Anakin was a menace), and Obi-Wan finds it hard not to see it as Cody coming to stand by his metaphorical side, like they used to be when they had each other’s backs. Because Cody knows Obi-Wan won’t ever ask someone to give up their freedom of their own accord, when he won’t even hesitate on his own behalf, and he won’t wait until Obi-Wan asks him to, because he knows Obi-Wan would never.

Cody is offering him an olive branch.

And who is Obi-Wan to stop him?

“What?” Jango steps forward, “where are you going?”

Cody’s eyes don’t leave Obi-Wan’s and when he speaks it’s as much a promise to him as it is an answer to his father. “To the town hall.”

“The fuck you are,” Rex growls.

Cody holds up a hand to stop his brothers tirade and turns to his father.

“Kote…”

“You know what she means to me,” he repeats, “and I’ve just heard _that_. There is nothing you can say that would keep me here now, when my presence somewhere else could make sure that never, ever happens again. Please don’t make this difficult.”

He’s serious enough that Jango doesn’t even try to argue again and simply gives his son a nod as his blessing, his unhappiness blatantly displayed. Obi-Wan gets the feeling that if he survives this and something happens to Cody, Jango will never stop blaming him. Which is fair.

Rex isn’t quite so accepting. “You think I’m just going to let you walk into the gundark’s nest, _alone_?”

“I won’t be alone,” he flicks his eyes over to Obi-Wan. “And he’s right, I can’t stay here if she’s in danger and you don’t walk away from family.”

Obi-Wan finds his brows lifting in surprise at Cody so casually and openly agreeing with him, but he doesn’t dare ruin the moment by commenting on it. And not least because it makes some ache in his chest, an echo of his past self-begging for one more chance and Cody choosing to walk away instead.

“And what then?” Rex asks bitterly, “you’ll be a dutiful Clanker like Bly until the end of time?”

They all see Aayla flinch and Rex shoots her an apologetic look.

“No, _dir’kut_. Because I trust my family and I know that they’ll get me out. This is just to buy us time.”

Rex nods unhappily but doesn’t give up his fight. They all know Rex won’t stop until he’s got Cody back by his side and a part of Obi-Wan is counting on that. “We’re just getting rid of our two best tacticians in the meantime?”

“I think Buir might have something to say about that, and that’s if we’re not pretending, you’re not at least as good as I am.” Cody’s a brilliant by-the-book tacticians capable of overseeing thousands of soldiers simultaneously and not losing track of a single one, while Rex is a more off-the-rails spontaneous strategist who thrives in the madness of battle when everything falls to _osik_.

And maybe they need that more right now.

Rex snorts but there’s something sad in it, like he knows he’s saying goodbye for the foreseeable future and he pulls his brother in close, bringing their foreheads together.

Obi-Wan can just hears as Cody speaks. “Look after her for me, vod, while I can’t.”

“Of course, we’ll wait for them here.”

“And try not to let Skywalker near any explosives.”

“From what I remember, it’s don’t let the explosives near Skywalker.”

Because they might just _spontaneously_ go off.

“That too.”

Obi-Wan finds himself looking away to give them privacy and he feels guilty at the idea of separating them. But they will see each other again, he’s determined of that. Inadvertently, he makes eye contact with Jango and quickly looks away. He doesn’t need any more pressure.

“Stay safe, vod.”

“I’ll be fine, I’m with Obi-Wan.”

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

He does his best not to fix Rex with an offended stare because he may have a bit of a track record, but usually that’s not his fault.

Cody begins to pull things out of the pockets of his jacket and stuff them into the bag Rex has retrieved for him, then he turns and hands both his rifle and the bag to Rex. “No sense in handing them over to the Clankers,” he says gruffly.

“No, I suppose not,” Obi-Wan agrees.

He does the same, even putting his knife in the bag. Then he hands the bag over to Aayla and hesitates. “There’s a book in there,” he says, “could you give it to Ahsoka for me in three days’ time? It’s her birthday and I imagine I won’t be there for it. Also, the last tin of peaches? She loves those and I wanted to save them for her.”

Aayla gives him a small smile. “Of course.” Then she hugs him fiercely. “Stay safe, and know that we’ll get you out. We’ll find a way.”

He pulls back. “I’m counting on it.”

Padmé hugs him after, which does surprise him. “If you see the Senator or…” she asks hesitantly and looks characteristically unsure and Obi-Wan is reminded of her own prolonged suffering over the fate of her people.

“I will,” he promises all the same.

Then Cody leans away from Rex and Obi-Wan falls into step with him. Together they take off at a run, heading towards the dome of the town hall visible in the distance, neither of them risking looking back at the mismatched group of people watching them go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to skywalking-across-the-galaxy!
> 
> To the person that said they were getting The Last of Us vibes, I’ve realised you’re right! I love the aesthetics so I’m definitely guilty there (and it has nothing to do with the fact the Ellie both looks like me and shares my name, I promise).
> 
> Also, I’ve started to write Ahsoka’s side of this story, so hopefully that will clarify a few things. 
> 
> As usual, the next chapter should be up on Tuesday (19/5/20) x


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin and Ahsoka finally earn their tags, and many things happen to Obi-Wan that he wishes wouldn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a little squeamish please read the end notes first! (Nothing big, I just have no desire to traumatise anyone inadvertently) x

Unarmed he feels exposed and naked, and he’s in no doubt that Cody feels the same, a problem that is only multiplied by the presence of the three dozen Clankers staring them down. There’s complete silence as they wait, which is not helpful either. For people who are mocked for how much noise they make, it’s eerie when they _don’t_.

Cody stands solidly at his side, giving absolutely nothing away to those who don’t know him. Beyond the fact he’s feigning boredom, he’s unreadable. Even Obi-Wan would be none the wiser to his discomfort if he didn’t look at the way the muscles in Cody’s temples are permanently clenched.

Overhead, the few clouds are dark against the night sky and the Pole Star is visible in the north. Obi-Wan shoves his hands into his pockets as he looks up, his fingers itching for the safety of his rifle. Looking up while they wait means he doesn’t have to meet the faceless stares of any of their captors. And it’s nice to see the stars for once. There’s not enough light pollution here nor is the cloud cover too dense, and the beauty of it is a change from all of the carnage he witnesses on a daily basis. The last time he looked up just for the novelty of it, was the last night they were in the desert between their last town and this one.

And they all know what that led to.

This whole venture is risky, he knows that, but he’s run out of options and time. They’re unarmed, deep in enemy territory with approximately zero negotiating power, entirely reliant on the word of a SITH and his maybe-apprentice. It’s what is tactically called a _shit plan_. But it’s the only one they’ve got, so he looks up while he still can.

The Lady Ventress emerges from the townhall’s double doors and descends the steps, an armed guard she doesn’t really need walking two paces behind her. From the way Cody stiffens, he doesn’t need two guesses as to who it is.

From the way Bly stiffens, he knows exactly who Cody is too. And neither of them can say anything.

Obi-Wan isn’t even sure Cody would know what to say. They’ve hypothesized he exchanged Aayla’s care for his servitude and while it is in character, they don’t _know_. There’s an awful _lot_ they don’t know, and he’s seen people killed by less. They don’t know where Bly’s loyalties lie, if they’re with Aayla or if they’re with the Clankers and the Sith. They don’t know if he’s kept here against his will, playing along because he can’t leave, or if he _wants_ to be muscle accessory to murder.

And the thin line between the possibilities is where Cody and Obi-Wan’s lives lie, where Anakin and Ahsoka’s do too. Because it’s exactly as far as they can trust the Clankers.

“My dear,” the Lady drawls, “it’s so good to see you again and so soon as well.” She addresses Obi-Wan, stalking right up into his personal space, taking advantage of her height to look down on him. Then her gaze switches to Cody in predatory assessment, making no attempt to hide the way her eyes undress him – not just his clothes, but his mind too. “It seems you’ve brought a friend with you.”

Obi-Wan finds his hackles rising despite how he knows Cody would hate it if he came to his defence. He’d explained Ventress’ conditions to him on the way and Cody knows he’s going to have to fight someone to prove his worth. Neither of them are particularly worried about him winning – he has to, there’s so much hinging on it – but that doesn’t mean either of them are looking forward to it.

“I agree to your terms,” he says instead of rising to the bait, trying to bite back the way it burns to say those to a likely SITH.

He met enough SITH in the war and even before to know the aura they inflict on their surroundings, and he’d bet what’s left of his freedom that Ventress is one. She’s with _Dooku_ for Force’s sake. It’s not just anyone who wears a blade, not the way she does, nor holds themselves with that countenance. And the air around her is thick with the hate-power-death that has clung to every SITH he’s ever met.

“All business,” she pouts, “you’re no fun.”

He doesn’t want to be. He doesn’t have time for this. Ahsoka was _screaming_.

Instead, he offers a tight smile. “We are willing to take the place of those I mentioned before.”

She sighs, all mock offense at his manners, and turns to face Bly. He’s rod-straight and completely still, and it looks as if he hasn’t taken a breath since he first saw Cody. His eyes certainly haven’t left his cousin. Obi-Wan can practically feel the confusion and horror (though he could be mistaken, it might be repulsion) rolling off him as he tries to fathom why they’ve walked up to the compound and offered themselves, bound and trussed, to the karking SITH.

Aayla confessed to telling Bly about the SITH. He’d been her commander on enough missions for him to know about the JEDI – and have signed the official secrets act, of course – so it hadn’t been without context for him. Obi-Wan had never told Cody about them exactly, not when they’d been together, though he had mentioned them in passing. Cody had been aware of their existence, but they’d both been professional enough to leave the subject alone.

“Then you’ll remember when I said the person you brought would have to prove themselves.”

If it’s possible, Bly stiffens _more_ at the implication. Next to him, the vein in Cody’s temple dances. Obi-Wan feels sick because she _can’t_ _know_ they’re related. Not unless Bly told her. Fetts stick together, that’s the natural order of things and to ask them to fight one another? That’s a level of sacrilege scant few would dare to suggest, but is exactly the sort of game a SITH would love to play.

Ventress switches her stare back to Obi-Wan. “And since you’ve already proved yourself, who better to act as an opponent?”

It takes a moment for him to process her words because he tries to bridge the leap between what he expected to hear and what he actually heard. When he does, his stomach sinks like a stone and he find himself opening his mouth to protest (wouldn’t Anakin love that, Obi-Wan’s mouth running of its own accord), only to remember exactly why they’re here and that they have no bargaining power.

She steps behind him, _circling_ , and takes a moment to lean over his shoulder and whisper in his ear. “I know how you fight, and I’ll know if you’re holding back. If I think even for a moment that you are, that you won’t willing serve under my command to the exact letter, then the deal is off.” She leans back as if she’s not spoken and calls out to the silent sentinels still around them. “Clear a space!”

Obi-Wan feels sick. He broke Bly’s nose – what does she want him to do to Cody? Whatever it is, he’s positive he _can’t_. But they need to _look_ realistic because it’s not only their lives that depend on the outcome of this fight. Which means they need to _be_ realistic.

Force, he hates the SITH’s games.

Cody’s herded from his side, before he can communicate his intentions and Ventress’ words to him, and Obi-Wan prays that Cody heard what she said. On the other side of the circle, once again formed by the body of Clankers, Cody shrugs off his jacket and very purposefully hands it to Bly, maintaining eye contact with him through his mask for a few very uncomfortable seconds too long. Ventress is too busy to notice, addressing the crowd with her arms stretched in front of her, and Obi-Wan can’t fault her efficiency. She certainly isn’t waiting around.

“Positions please, boys,” she calls and sweeps backwards to watch.

He sheds his own jacket and drops it on the floor, because he doesn’t have a cousin to hand.

Obi-Wan and Cody stare off from opposite sides of the ring. Cody’s face is impassive, and Obi-Wan wonders if he’s playing dumb for their hosts or if he’s caught onto how much danger they’re in if this fight isn’t _real_.

The lines stemming from the Lady’s lips wrinkle as she snarls. “Commence!”

And neither of them do. Instead, they edge around each other, both unwilling to be the first to make a move. It’s not their first spar; they’d been the two highest ranking officers aboard battlecruisers on more than one occasion, with no-one else appropriate to pair against, and then they’d been partners and they’d go down to the gym or the ring together. But then neither is this really a spar. It’s a fight and that difference is crucial. They’ve never fought to hurt the other before.

Not physically.

Obi-Wan is the first to concede, a sharp contrast to his usual patience but he knows Cody won’t because this is _Cody_ and he has nothing if not a strict sense of duty and loyalty, and would never move to harm anyone he has not designated an enemy. Which means Obi-Wan needs to force his hand.

He darts forwards so they’re in each other’s space, keeping his guard up – which has the added benefit that he can’t see Cody’s eyes – and moves to punch him in the stomach (despite everything, _not hard_ ). Cody easily deflects and follows with a blow Obi-Wan can tell he’s holding back because it doesn’t even hurt when he blocks it, and uses Cody’s forward momentum to swing him forwards. The shift in their positions gives him a full view of Ventress’ dissatisfaction of their farce, even as Cody allows the armlock Obi-Wan has put him in to force his balance back.

Fuck.

He twists his back foot, sweeping Cody’s feet out from under him with slightly more vigour (Cody doesn’t even _counter_ ) and gets him in a scarf hold on the floor. Cody is allowing him to win the fight because he’s a far, far better person than Obi-Wan will ever be, but right now that isn’t what they need. It isn’t what Anakin and Ahsoka need either.

He closes his eyes and prays to every god and goddess he doesn’t believe in that Cody might one day forgive him and he leans down to whisper almost inaudibly. “I let you think I’d died. I lied to you, because you weren’t worth it.”

He knows Cody has heard.

Because one moment he’s almost passive and the next – if only for a fraction of a second – he’s completely and utterly still, every muscle in his body straining against the effort. Then a fist catches the edge of Obi-Wan’s jaw and the sudden and still slightly unexpected impact makes him reel backwards, releasing his grip. He doesn’t stay that way though, neither of them do, both back on their feet instinctively. The ground is never a good place to fight.

Cody’s rage seeps through his mask of carefully disciplined control, the vein in his forehead throbbing and the muscles in his neck taunt. Obi-Wan swallows and shifts into a more defensive stance, positive he won’t have to be the one attacking anymore. Cody _charges_ and Obi-Wan braces himself for the collision, shifting so it doesn’t catch his injured shoulder. Air is driven from his lungs all the same and it takes concentration to keep up with the onslaught of Cody’s attack.

They’ve sparred each other often enough to know the other’s style inside out. It may have been five years, but muscle memory ensures that means nothing and that the fallout is _brutal_.

He doesn’t need to pretend any more, he’s fighting for real now.

Cody manages to get a hand around his waist and flips him, and Obi-Wan clings like an overly large limpet and brings them both down. Cody goes for his floating ribs when they begin to wrestle on the floor, and Obi-Wan pre-empts it and uses the opening to strike his solar plexus first. This _must_ be hurting him more than Cody. Winded but now down, Cody head butts him with the force of someone used to wearing a helmet and it makes them both grunt in pain.

Obi-Wan recovers first and hates himself for it, but aware that if he hesitates now then Ventress will know and this will all be for _nothing_. He cannot let that happen. He punches Cody in the head – a glancing blow with most of the force wasted by the bad angle at which he throws it – and the grit on his hand from the floor scours Cody’s cheek, drawing blood.

He leaps off Cody and staggers backwards, unable to look at him and so turning to Ventress instead.

“He’ll do, I suppose,” The Lady allows, walking up to Obi-Wan as Cody picks himself off the floor, all seething rage tightly controlled. “The aggression is certainly there.”

She seems to be enjoying the entertainment she’s created for herself, and if it wouldn’t be beneath her dignity, Obi-Wan thinks she might be grinning instead of smirking.

“Load them onto transport,” she commands, “we’ll take them to their _friends_.”

Someone pushes his jacket into his hands and he turns to see Bly, one hand on his shoulder to guide him away from Cody and around to the back of the town hall to where there’s a small fleet of vans and cars and bikes. No two are the same and all have been heavily modified, mostly by people who don’t know what they’re doing. Bly leads him to the back of one of the vans and another Clanker opens the back door. Obi-Wan doesn’t protest, just climbs in and sinks to the floor.

It might once have been a police car or some kind of official transport vehicle, because thick mesh separates the back holding area from the driver and passenger. Cody is shoved in after him, and drops to the floor breathing heavily. He’s wearing his jacket again and wraps it tightly around himself as he rests his head on his knees and forces himself to _breathe_.

Obi-Wan feels awful and the beginnings of panic claw up his throat as he contemplates what he’s _done_. Cody won’t even look at him, and he knows he deserves it. There’s blood on the back of his hand, dripping from his face, and Obi-Wan knows better than to get close enough to wipe it away.

Someone shuts the door and they can hear as the lock clicks into place. Then the driver climbs into the cab and the engine starts up and they pull out of the lot. It’s been over a year since he’s been in a car and he doesn’t even have the energy to enjoy the novelty of it. There’s a shout to open the gate and clear the way, and Obi-Wan cranes his neck to see as they pull out of the compound. There’s a smaller car in front of them, and by the sound of it, another behind them as well as a brace of bike. They make quite the intimidating entourage.

Obi-Wan sinks back down and looks back over at Cody. The silence stretches on between them and he doesn’t even know where to begin making amends. A part of him fears it might be too late for that.

“Cody-”

“ _Don’t_.”

Cody doesn’t move or change his breathing, just spits the words at Obi-Wan and it makes his chest coil up tightly. But he respects Cody’s decision and doesn’t press – neither of them are in the right mindset for any kind of productive conversation. He just hopes they are later and there’s _time_.

He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes, feeling the vibrations and potholes in the road below. It’s the first time they’ve really stopped since he and Kix were in the apartment and it feels like days have passed since then, not mere hours. Now that his heart isn’t beating so hard and has started hurting in another way instead, his brain stops its defensive selective memory and gifts him with the replay of the Clankers he shot, crumpling to the floor at his feet.

Dealing death has never become truly easy (and for that he’s grateful, when killing is _easy_ , that’s when he has to step back and worry for his soul), and each death still means something terrible to him. But he’s had more than enough experience working through it that he’s in no danger of freezing or jeopardising the mission. He’ll be what others need him to be and he’ll get the mission done, willingly wearing the weight of that on his soul so others don’t have to. Because there’s always someone who needs him to be strong and he can’t deny them that by breaking down. He doesn’t have that _luxury_. He knows very well innocent people _die_ when he hesitates.

If he had hesitated with Maul, how many more would have suffered?

That has been his justification for years, since Melida/Daan. He’s had training that others have not, and it’s his duty to use that to help those who cannot help themselves. That was the purpose of the JEDI, before the War at least. And, really, it doesn’t matter that he _got out_ of the JEDI and the GAR and the responsibility he had to others because (no matter how much he denied it to himself) that had only been on paper. And paper doesn’t necessarily reflect reality. The sense of duty never left him, because the JEDI don’t kriff around and it’s been ingrained in him since he could _walk_. He may have stepped back from his responsibility in the War, but he’d traded one post for another. He’d chosen his family over death and they had become his new duty.

 _Getting out_ of the JEDI is irrelevant when he will get _back in_ – to the chaos and death and destruction of battle – in a heartbeat for his family. Should the situation call for him to put down his pen and pick up his sword once more, he will. He _is_. And he _always_ will, should the situation call for it, because he will never see another suffer if he can stop it. It just has to be for the right reasons. Because he never stopped being a JEDI, not really. It’s a part of his very identity and he can no more erase that than he can stop loving Cody or cast aside Anakin and Ahsoka.

Eventually the van comes to a sudden stop, and he gets the impression that’s as unexpected for his escort as it is for them. He opens his eyes and does his best to stand without hitting his head to see what’s going on. Cody still doesn’t move.

Out of the windscreen he can see the driver from the front car in the headlights as he gets out to speak to one of the Clankers from the East Barracks who’s stood in the middle of the road, blocking their way. They gesture emphatically and keep pointing behind them at the distant fires of the compound, until the Lady herself climbs out of the rear passenger seat. The Clanker seems to shrink under her scrutiny and then repeats himself with less vigour. Ventress’ gaze switches suddenly backwards and Obi-Wan makes inadvertent eye contact and ends up staring her down. She speaks to one of the Clankers behind her and they stride purposefully towards the van.

“Heads up,” he mutters to Cody and gets no response.

The doors to their van are unlocked and swung open.

“The Lady wants you.”

Cody opens his eyes and unfolds himself almost robotically, stepping heavily onto the tarmac. Obi-Wan follows several paces behind as they’re guided over.

“It seems our base has been attacked,” Ventress says. “Would you happen to know anything about that?”

He understands where she’s coming from. Their timing is _far_ too convenient.

“No,” he lies easily.

She hums and turns back to the East Barracks Clanker. “And why is this the first I’m hearing of this? A messenger should have been dispatched immediately.”

“They were, Ma’am,” he says, clearly fearing for his life. “Maybe something happened to them?”

Obi-Wan wonders if the Fetts happened to them.

She scowls, clearly displeased and turns away from him. “You two,” she gestures to Obi-Wan and Cody, “follow me.”

He’s not exactly about to argue, and Cody isn’t saying anything, so they follow behind as more Clankers spill out of the cars to protect her. Bly is among them and strides to take his place by her side. She makes her way down the road towards the base and the guard don’t even dare to challenge her as they draw close. It seems she’s too infamous for that.

In the light of one of the compound’s fires he can see the bodies from earlier – the ones _he_ made – lined on the edge of the pavement, stripped of their masks and left out in the open. No-one has bothered to close their eyes either and it makes him worry. Their value for life is almost non-existent and the dread in his chest only twists further into knots at the possibility of what they’ve done to Anakin and Ahsoka.

The gates have been opened and the boxes behind them moved. Inside is a hive of activity, Clankers running around left, right and centre. There’s no sign of any prisoners or recruits, and when the Lady stops in the centre square, it’s obvious they stand out. Bly is the only Clanker to stay close to their side, and the rest fan out along the courtyard. If Obi-Wan didn’t know the Clankers were all one and the same, he’d call it an occupation.

“Would someone kindly tell me who’s in charge now?”

Fires flicker on the ramparts and in oil drums in the yard, starving of the darkness. Under one of the awnings, a gas light has been strung up to illuminate a table, and Obi-Wan has seen enough improvised war rooms to recognise what it’s supposed to be easily. Three Clankers are gathered around the table and all turn to pay defence to Ventress. One even goes to bow before thinking better of it and floundering instead. Hesitantly, the taller of the three approaches. He has a stripe and a half painted onto his mask, and despite his apparent reluctance, holds himself confidently enough. “I am, Ma’am.”

“We’ll get on to what’s happened in a minute,” she says dispassionately, “but first, business.” She flicks a hand at Obi-Wan. “What were the names?”

“Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano.”

She turns back to the Clanker. “Find them and bring them here.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

His stance screams of confusion, but he turns and summons an underling all the same, dispatching them with a set of instructions. Then they stand there in silence and Obi-Wan watches as beads of sweat begin to form on the Clanker’s neck under the Lady’s scrutiny and the Clankers go about their business, giving the five of them a wide berth.

It feels like hours though it can’t be more than ten minutes when a set of double doors in the far building open and they’re finally, _finally_ there. Accompanied by half a dozen Clankers, Ahsoka emerges from the building with Anakin leaning on her heavily, stumbling as he walks, one arm wrapped around her shoulder. Neither of them look up so neither of them notice, and Ahsoka keeps mumbling encouragements to Anakin, convincing him to take _just a few more steps_.

The relief at seeing them is cut short by just how terrible they both look. Ahsoka’s face is drawn and laden with worry, large dark bags under her eyes. Her hair is down, in a way she never keeps it, and the braids are tattered and fraying. A bandage is wrapped around one of her arms, dirty and loose, stained with the brown of drying blood.

But Anakin is worse. He can’t even seem to keep his head up and his entire body is boneless and slack, as he struggles with each step he takes, relying so heavily on Ahsoka that she bows under his weight. His hair is matted and straggly, and he’s not even wearing a shirt. Mud and dried blood are smeared across his torso, and his arm-

His right hand is _gone_.

Heavy bandages are wrapped tightly around the stump just below his elbow and Obi-Wan feels the blood drain from his extremities as denial bubbles up his throat, choking his ability to breathe.

“Anakin!”

Ahsoka looks up, but Anakin doesn’t even seem to register him. Obi-Wan is by their side in a second, taking his brother’s weight. Distantly he recognises that Cody is by his side, pulling Ahsoka gently away. He lowers his brother to the floor to get a better look at him, cradling him in his arms as Anakin struggles to focus.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Hey, Anakin,” he says softly.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came for you two, of course.”

“Knew you would.”

Obi-Wan smiles sadly as guilt squeezes his heart. He delayed too long, and he was too late.

Anakin wheezes with the effort of speaking, eyes fluttering as they try to focus. The wound is fresh and Obi-Wan is in no doubt that it was the cause of the screams. If he’d have known that the tortured sound was them _severing_ his brother’s arm he’d have-

He’d have what? Charged in there? His corpse would have helped nobody but the SITH.

He should have traded his life days ago, instead of delaying in the hope of another option. Handing over a JEDI to the SITH means _nothing_ in the face of this. Shakily, he presses a kiss to Anakin’s feverish brow in a wildly inadequate apology.

Ahsoka steps forwards, and crouches by Anakin’s side drawing her gaze up to Obi-Wan and away from her brother, an uncertain look on her face. Cody reappears, the blank distance from before gone from his face, replaced by something akin to horror.

Anakin looks between Obi-Wan and Cody, and then does it again. “Oh _fuck_ ,” he mutters.

It’s the most Anakin-like thing to prioritise that Obi-Wan can’t help the small snort of indignation that breaks free. All of this is so _ridiculous_ and awful, and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Perhaps he’ll do both.

Ventress’ voice sings above their reunion. “As much as I hate to cut this short, I have things to do.”

Obi-Wan looks urgently to Ahsoka and prays that the Clankers can’t understand Ryl. Anakin is in no position to follow instructions right now, and as much as he regrets it, responsibility falls to her now. “People are waiting for you at a junction not far from here, they’re _good_ people, they’ll look after you.”

Her nose wrinkles, that way it does when she’s confused. “What’s happening?”

“You’re getting out of here.”

“But-”

“You’re going to have to help Anakin, but it’s not far. First right, second left, first left. Got it?”

“Yes,” she says shakily. “What- what are you doing?” He looks at her and understanding crosses her face. “You _can’t_ ,” she says outraged.

He gestures to Anakin. “Neither of you can stay here.”

“But-” she repeats and then stops, nodding unhappily, her uncertainty replaced with determination. “There’s something you need to know. The people here, they’re not who you think. The _Separatists_ are here, with Dooku and the SITH. They’re not dead like we thought, all this is because of them.” She spits the name of the Separatists with the righteous fury of someone who has learned it off those around her from a young age, and it makes him inexplicably sad she hasn’t escaped even that.

Obi-Wan shoots her an apologetic look. He can see where she’s made the leap. “I know Dooku is here, but that doesn’t mean the Separatists-”

“No, it doesn’t, but they’re here all the same,” she insists. “Trust me, please.”

And he does.

The desperation she bleeds and the need for him to understand causes him to pause. Ahsoka is not one to exaggerate or weave drama and false hoods. If she’s convinced of something then it’s usually for a very good reason. And it’s a very good reason he doesn’t want to think about right now.

“Since one of you is injured, I’ll give you a whole half hour head start,” Ventress says, and Obi-Wan can feel Cody turning to glare. “Then I’m sending out the hunting parties.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” he says as calmly as he can manage. It comes out sounding cold.

“Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn’t. I don’t believe it was ever mentioned. Either way, your time starts now.”

Obi-Wan knows he’s in no position to argue and any attempt to do so will be fruitless. He turns back to Ahsoka and Anakin, trying to memorise everything about the both of them. He knows the Fetts will look after them, that they’ll treat them as their own kin – it’s _Obi-Wan_ they have the problem with, and Obi-Wan only – but it hurts, letting them go. He knows he must, and that’s why he is, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Because he’s not entirely sure how he’s going to get out of this mess, and with Anakin and Ahsoka taken care of, his next priority is getting Cody out.

“You need to go,” he says gently.

Tears brim at the edge of her eyes, but they don’t fall and she blinks them resolutely away. “Alright,” she whispers, and then leans over Anakin to pull him into a hug, burying her face in the crook of his neck and clinging tightly.

“You’ll be alright,” he promises (and it’s not something he _can_ promise, but he can’t stop himself). “Do you remember the directions?” He can feel her nod against his neck and the wet tracks that fall on his skin. He doesn’t judge her, how could he? “I love you,” he promises (and _that_ he can promise).

“I love you too,” she says, squeezing him once and then drawing back reluctantly but with such resolution that he knows he can count on her to get the both of them to safety. Then she throws herself at Cody. “And you.”

Obi-Wan can hear as he says, “you too _adi’ika_ ,” and strokes the back of her hair.

She lets out a small laugh-sob and then helps Obi-Wan manoeuvre Anakin to stand.

“Stay safe,” she begs. Obi-Wan isn’t sure how to reply to that or if he’s supposed to at all.

Obi-Wan and Cody help her get Anakin to the gate of the compound, but are stopped from going any further by the warning jab of weapons against their backs. Cody’s earlier animosity is forgotten, and he steps closer in solidarity as they watch Anakin and Ahsoka limp away. They watch until the pair take the first corner and then the Lady makes a clicking sound in the back of her throat and they’re forcefully turned around to face her. Bly is uncomfortably still behind her, and Obi-Wan had forgotten about him. But then that’s probably his intention; to be the focus of no-one’s ire.

“Don’t forget the mercy shown here,” she warns, “it won’t be shown again. Step out of line, break your side of the deal and it won’t just be a limb that is taken. We’ll hunt down your family and take their lives. I expect results from the both of you.”

Then she turns away and dismisses them, moving to talk to the Clanker in charge of the compound. Obi-Wan doesn’t miss Bly’s flinch and it answers a great many of his questions.

“Follow me,” one of their escort barks.

This time it’s Cody’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him away protectively.

“They’ll be fine,” he whispers in Mando’a. “Rex will ensure that.”

“I know.” And he _does_. “It’s just, they took his _arm_ Cody. Out here that’s a death sentence.”

And that’s what this boils down to. To survive in the wastes that are left you need wits, a hell of a lot of luck and no small amount of skill. Anakin only possessed two of the three to begin with and now he only has one – and even that is debateable. The severity of such a handicap could very, very easily cost him his life. And that’s Obi-Wan’s fault.

“Listen to me,” Cody says seriously, “that kid is nothing if not a survivor. And there will be plenty of people to help him when he needs it. Kix is going to take care of all the medical stuff, and you know what Rex and Anakin are like, they won’t leave each other’s side. He is going to have to relearn how to do an awful lot of things, but he’s good at adapting and he won’t have to do it alone.”

Obi-Wan just nods stiffly, because they’re being led through a set of steel doors and down a flight of concrete stairs, where they’re forced to walk in single file. Gas lamps have been placed at intervals but do little to starve off the gloom. He barely pays any attention, mind spiralling, lost in his thoughts. This is _his_ fault. It doesn’t matter that Anakin’s impulsiveness led him to strike someone he shouldn’t have, because Obi-Wan wasn’t there to stop him or deal with the consequences like he should.

They’re led through the basement, along long thin corridors of cool musty air. Condensation is thick on the walls, and it bizarrely reminds him of his cell in Geonosis where the only water available to him were the droplets clinging to the walls. And they are cells; they pass rooms bleeding whimpers of agony and hoarse voices issuing empty threats, and it leaves him in no doubt as to who is kept down here – those who won’t or refuse to conform to the Clanker’s way of life. Prisoners.

The small concrete room they end up in is where they’re introduced to the first Clanker they’ve seen without a mask. Her face is gnarled with age and the trials of life, and there’s something cruel about the severity of the lines around her eyes. Once they’ve delivered their captives, all but two of the Clankers leave the room and the two that remain take up sentinel by the door.

“Please take off your clothes,” she says, not looking up from the book in her hand.

Obi-Wan can only look to Cody in confused disbelief.

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

He sighs as he steps back to slip off his jacket; they’ve made their bed and now they must lie in it. Cody does the same. Obi-Wan isn’t a self-conscious man, but the way the woman looks at him makes him uneasy. It’s not sexual by any means, but the premeditation he sees makes his skin crawl.

They strip down to their boxers and he finds he’s perversely grateful when the woman doesn’t push them further. It’s cold down here; their breath forms little clouds and the cold seeps up through the soles of his feet from the concrete, causing goose bumps to erupt along his arms. Both of them suppress a shiver, and Obi-Wan has to consciously lean back away from Cody’s heat.

He supposes this is to prevent them bringing in contraband or anything that could undermine the Clanker’s efforts to subdue them. Which is smart. It’s also a hell of a phycological power play.

“Name?” the woman demands, still not looking up.

“Cody Fett.”

Giving his nickname over his given name means he’s not traceable in a professional capacity to anyone who knew him as a commander. With the exception of Bly, anyone who knows him as _Cody_ is unlikely to side with the SITH and the Separatists.

“Previous occupation?”

Cody doesn’t even skip a beat. “Bounty hunter.”

He certainly has the skill set for it, and the Fett Clan is well-known even among non-Mandalorians for their hunter prowess. Nobody is going to question his cover. It even makes the woman look up, though just for a moment. “How useful.” Then she’s all business again, turning to Obi-Wan. “And you, what’s your name?”

He can’t risk giving his real one, not so close to the SITH presence. “Ben Skywalker, English professor.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And why would the Lady be so insistent we train an English professor?”

“I’m afraid you’d have to ask her.”

The woman isn’t impressed by that, but notes it down in her book all the same. Then she nods at one of the Clankers and Obi-Wan turns to see they’ve acquired a hose. “When they’ve been decontaminated send them to dormitory Aurek-two-twelve.” She stands, making a show of stretching, and leaves the room.

Obi-Wan has no desire to find out what she means by that, but has a suspicion they’re about to all the same. The burlier of the two Clankers kicks their clothes to one side, towards the smaller one. He seems to size up the two of them and decides that Cody is the much larger threat, crowding into his space, making himself bigger so he can look down on the both of them. Cody’s smart enough not to react, refusing to flinch at the snarl inches from his face, nor at the way the Clanker smirks.

Obi-Wan is so preoccupied watching the Clanker trying to bait Cody into a testosterone fuelled rampage, that it’s only when the smaller Clanker crows in triumph he notices their clothes are being searched. They hold up the flick knife Obi-Wan has been keeping in his boot, the one he took when he killed the Clanker, and move to look at it in the light of the lamp in the bracket on the wall.

“Who’s is that?” The Clanker by Cody asks, and Obi-Wan wonders if they’re short a few brain cells because it’s just been pulled out of _his_ boot.

“I’m going to say it’s not the English professor’s,” Cody snarks.

Obi-Wan’s about to protest the intervention when the Clanker buries his fist in Cody’s stomach, and Cody doubles over with a suppressed groan, forcibly righting himself and denying everyone the satisfaction of a reaction. Obi-Wan can’t help the snarl that escapes him as he steps forwards to put himself in front of Cody. Cody throws out his hand to stop him, but the Clanker has already noticed.

“Maybe you’re not as wet as you look.” The Clanker switches his attention from Cody to Obi-Wan, something vindictive shadowing his face. “What are you, gay for each other?” ~~~~

Obi-Wan can feel the muscles in his face tightening as he does his upmost not to react. They’re baiting him, he knows that, and it’s not like he’s a stranger to being insulted or mocked. It’s just the Clanker has managed to accidently hit the exact spot he was aiming for, and Obi-Wan has spent a lifetime dealing with people exactly like him. Either by dressing them down or punching them in the face, and right now he doesn’t have those options because they need to keep a low profile and not get noticed by the SITH.

He knows what Dooku would do to him; he’s been told in excruciating detail on more than one occasion. First, Dooku will break him, destroy him down to his very conviction in goodness and life, and then, in his place, he will build an Obi-Wan in the image of a SITH. And Obi-Wan is afraid of what he would become should he allow himself to Fall in such a way. But he’s _not_ a SITH, he’s is a JEDI and he doesn’t believe in mindless violence or murder or hunger for power. He doesn’t seek revenge.

No matter the reason. Because if he allowed himself to, he’d have many, _many_ reasons pursue.

“Can’t you hear me, I _said_ -”

“Hey,” the smaller Clanker interrupts and earns the glare of the larger one, “this is Axii’s knife.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and lets out a controlled breath. If he’s going to take a life he can bear the burden of knowing their name.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, look. The blade’s nicked at the end and the handle is mother of pearl. He showed it to me after he got it from that caravan passing through. You know the one we dealt with – Mont came from there?”

“Yeah, I remember.” The larger Clanker rounds back on Cody. “Why do you have this?”

They’re not quite nose to nose because the Clanker has a few inches on Cody, but the sentiment remains. Obi-Wan can see Cody’s reply forming in his mind and he blurts out before he can help himself. “I found it.”

“Thought he said it was his?”

“It is, I gave it to him.”

The smaller Clanker looks dissatisfied. “Found it where exactly?”

“On the floor.” Obi-Wan wants to knock their heads together, or possibly his own against a wall. He’s better at lying than this.

The smaller Clanker sends Obi-Wan a shrewd look that lets him know he doesn’t buy his story one bit, but doesn’t have anything to counter him with. It promises retribution should the truth come to light. And the truth that he has _murdered_ his friend will not be kind. Which means not only has he been here less than half an hour, but he’s already made an enemy.

An hour later, when they’ve been _decontaminated_ with frigid water and questioned endlessly along pointless avenues for no reason other than a misplaced sense of power, that they’re allowed to get dressed and are taken from the basement into the building proper. Cody is supporting a fresh black eye and Obi-Wan’s shoulder aches from the cold.

By the time they’re deposited in an overcrowded dorm on the third floor of the old office building, the sun is starting to rise again and Obi-Wan’s is far more tired than he has any right to be. All but three of the beds are occupied, and he and Cody take the two closest to the door – he’s sure they’re going to learn why no-one else has claimed them, but it’s not like they have a whole lot of choice. The beds are barely a foot apart and everyone is breathing down each other’s necks long before they arrived. The mixture of blank looks and ill-concealed hopelessness that greets them as they walk into the room is far more depressing than anything else. Obi-Wan can _feel_ the life being sucked out of him.

He sits down heavily on the edge of the bed, dropping his jacket by his side and retrieving the silka beads. They provide less of a comfort now he knows Anakin and Ahsoka’s fate, and they remind him all too much of Ahsoka’s matted hair and torn braids, which make him think of Anakin and his _arm_ -

“Hey,” Cody says gently, “just breathe.”

He’s sat down on the bed opposite, their knees knocking together. Cody puts a hesitant hand on his leg in a show of support.

“They’ll be with Rex and Buir by now, and I know they’re being taken care of.” He speaks in soft Mando’a – which to anyone even vaguely familiar with the language is a contradiction – and Obi-Wan finds it soothing. It’s an acknowledgement of Cody teaching him before (in preparation for their _marriage_ ) and it’s Cody’s way of reminding him that he is by Obi-Wan’s side, that Cody has his back, even if it’s not in a way he once did.

Which after what he said during the fight earlier, he really doesn’t deserve.

“I’m sorry.” It comes out choked.

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

Obi-Wan snorts. “We both know that’s not true. But I mean about before, during the fight. I didn’t mean what I said. You were more than worth it, _are_ worth more than that. But I had to, I couldn’t be selfish, Anakin and Ahsoka…”

Cody smiles sadly and shakes his head. “I know,” he says, “you reminded me why we were there and that I had a part to play. I won’t deny that for a moment, it felt good to get it out, to have something to focus my anger on. But really, I know you didn’t mean it, like that at least.”

Because they both know it doesn’t matter how much Obi-Wan didn’t mean to do what he did, he still _had,_ and the end result had been the same.

All this time later – it has been _years_ – and it still hurts just the same. The wound of everything between them may have scabbed over, but seeing Cody again has ripped that away, exposing the rawness underneath and it _stings_. Force knows Obi-Wan has been bleeding for a while. Anything, even the little things, serve as a reminder of what could have been and what was, and everything they gave up on. It’s like pouring salt on that wound.

He just wants it to be simple again, because it’s so complicated now. He can’t even have an innocent conversation with Cody without past wrongs rearing their heads to make themselves known.

“How did we get to here?” It slips free before he can think twice and Cody lifts a brow in response.

They both know why they’re here. Obi-Wan fucked up and Cody couldn’t live with it. Or, if they’re being more specific, it’s that _and_ to save the people they care about.

“I don’t know,” Cody sighs.

The JEDI in him wants to blame the SITH, but he knows that’s not completely fair, and neither is he immature enough to shirk his own role and responsibility. Some of the choices he made may have been forced, but he’d made them all the same, and others were his alone to make. Perspective and hindsight are one hell of guilt-trip and he’s had five years to think on his decisions and come up with a hundred ways they could have gone differently if only he’d made better choices.

In a different life, he and Cody may still have been in this situation, sacrificing themselves for those they love, but they could have been together from the start. If Cody had never walked away, and Obi-Wan hadn’t allowed everyone he cared for to think he’d _died_ , he may have been with the Fetts when the world upended and they’d have been in it as a family from the beginning.

But then he wouldn’t have left the JEDI or the GAR, and he might be dead long before all of this. Ahsoka wouldn’t be with them either. She’d still be a JEDI, at the Academy, if not already a commander because by the end they’d been desperate enough to send literal children (JEDI children, but _children_ none the less) into the furore of battle.

And ultimately it’s that which means he can never truly regret pretending to be dead.

It would just be all so much kriffing easier if he still didn’t _love_ Cody.

Because it’s far more painful than it should be to know that his love isn’t returned and what’s more that it is _his_ fault. Rejection has never felt this fatal before, but then it’s not really rejection is it? It’s more like he’s shot himself in the foot. He’d had Cody’s love and then he’d lost it.

“Try and get some sleep,” Cody suggests.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to sleep again after the look on Anakin’s face and the desperation in Ahsoka’s eyes when she’d realised he wasn’t coming with them. He _knows_ when he closes his eyes, all he will hear is her screams.

“I think I might meditate instead.”

Cody shrugs and moves backs to swing his legs over the bed. “Suit yourself.”

He rolls over to show Obi-Wan his back, and settles to try and sleep (though Obi-Wan knows it’s a way for him to work through his own demons without being disturbed). Were it anyone else, it would be a dismissal, but Obi-Wan knows Cody would never show his back to a room of strangers and so he shows his face to them instead so he can keep an eye on them. He trusts Obi-Wan to guard his blind spot and Obi-Wan won’t let him down.

Obi-Wan shuffles backwards on the mattress and settles into a typical half-lotus, letting his hands rest gently on his knees, the silka beads wound around the fingers of one hand. Eyes shut and breathing even, he doesn’t dive straight into the gritty whorl of emotions he knows are going to take hours to detangle, but instead keeps his focus at surface level, skimming the atmosphere of the room. The saturation of the air with despair-desperation-resignation is infectious, and the small clicks of movement and intakes of breath all reflect that. Clearly, there’s a level of phycological discipline used here; first breaking down resolve and then rebuilding it in the form of compliance to make the perfect Clanker. It’s textbook and it makes him think on what Ahsoka said in a new light, because he’s seen it used before in the War.

She’d been so sure about the CIS reforming and being present here, _now_ , that he at least believes her sincerity if not her sources. Though to doubt her makes him feel hypocritical; he remembers standing as a commander in the Council Chambers next to his general’s side, reporting the reformation of the SITH and being kindly but firmly told they were exaggerating.

Nothing about Maul had been an exaggeration.

But if Ahsoka is right – and he doesn’t have a cause to believe she isn’t, not really, just his own need for denial – then that changes _everything_. This wouldn’t be the mechanisms of a SITH acting as a local warlord, one who’s taken an unorthodox apprentice and is vying for power. This would be a much more insidious plot; the _Supreme Leader_ of the CIS acting in the heart of the Republic with CIS forces and a small army, consolidating power in order to spread their influence further afield. Dooku’s actions go from opportunistic to sinister, and it’s not just the people left in this town that are in danger but the entire remnants of the Republic.

And that raises the question; if the Separatists are in Coruscant and the Republic are not – in any way that matters – have the Separatists won?

He can’t imagine either the GAR or the JEDI giving up that fight easily, but the apocalypse changed everything. He knows many JEDI died in the final days before organised government fell apart, trying to keep the peace and hold back the tide. But they can’t all have, can they? There must have been some left to put up a defence after the end of the world. It’s something he should have asked Aayla when he’d had the chance, because she’d been there at the end. But he’d been afraid of the answer he’d receive. Obi-Wan had abandoned his people – not matter how right his reasons were – he hadn’t stood with them in the final battles. And yet, Aayla had done and still made it out. She’s _survived_ , and so others must have too.

But Aayla had been alone, she hadn’t been with other JEDI. Which at the very least, means the JEDI were shattered and separated, in no condition to put up any kind of opposition to a Separatist occupation. He knows for a fact the GAR had been in a similar state by the end. Many countries had broken the treaty, pulling their forces back to their own lands to deal with the crisis on their own. They were not united and so they did not stand. Even Mandalore had recalled their warriors (it hadn’t been the 212th and Cody serving at the time, but the 104th under Cody’s cousin, Wolffe), to the motherland and their satellite territory of Concord Dawn.

Which by all accounts means Cody and his brothers shouldn’t been in Coruscant at all. They have no reason to be.

The violent sound of a whistle being blown rouses him from his thoughts and he opens his eyes to find Cody looking at him intently.

“Help your thoughts at all?”

“Not really,” he admits. But it has given him much to think about.

The other people in the room – all with the same rough profile; men on the verge of middling age – are showing more signs of life than they have so far, rising from their beds to file out of the door.

“Where do you think they’re going?” Cody muses.

“Suppose we better find out.”

He braces himself to move, stretching his spine backwards until he hears a satisfying _pop_. He’s getting old and his joints are not as compliant as they used to be, especially when he sits still for a long period of time. They do him the disservice of seizing up, and his muscles are particularly vindictive after his fight today. He slips the silka beads into the pocket of his trousers and hides his jacket under the slightly mange-afflicted pillow.

The pair of them tag along behind the last man and find a disorganised line forming that leads to the end of the corridor and through a set of double doors. Cody catches the eye of someone.

“What’s happening?”

“Grub.” Monosyllabic seems to be about as far as the man is willing to go and he turns away again.

Obi-Wan isn’t sure how long people are here before it starts to get to them, and even with anti-interrogation and counter-torture training, he’s not entirely immune. Everyone cracks eventually, the JEDI just have higher thresholds and know their limits better than most.

“Well, at least they’re feeding us.” Cody tries for a lighter mood and it’s instantly crushed by the oppression hanging in the air.

He also has Cody.

“At least there’s that.”

They insert themselves into a gap in the queue, and when the person behind goes to complain Cody gives her the look that used to send shinies and veterans alike into rigid compliance. The woman decides that it isn’t a fight she’s willing to invest in and shrinks back.

The queue moves slowly, and eventually they end up in an interesting room that looks as if it’s survived several assassination attempts. It’s been gutted of all beams and girders (and would absolutely not pass regulation), and several dividing walls have been pulled down to create one large space. It’s being used as a dining hall, with a bank of benches where food is served at the far end, and rows of tables taking up the rest of the room. None of the furniture matches and it leaves no doubt that it’s been scavenged from across the town; it might even explain why the raiders take everything they come across, because if the organisation really is as large as it appears and not just a collaboration of several raider factions based across the town, then it needs the resources.

Obi-Wan takes a bowl from one of the stacks and shuffles along the line until he gets to the large metal vat at the end where a server ladles something into their bowls. It’s suspiciously grey and the chunks that float in it raise more questions than he wants answered. He waits for Cody to be served and then they find somewhere to sit against the far wall, in the midst of a group sitting in complete silence.

“Do we drink it?” Cody asks, shaking his bowl with distrust. A film shines on top and wobbles back at him.

“Maybe?” Obi-Wan doesn’t want mystery meat anywhere near his face.

“Even Echo’s more adventurous cooking wasn’t this bad.”

“Anakin’s-” he stops, unwilling ( _unable_ ) to finish.

Cody doesn’t push, instead he turns to the person next to him. “How long have you been here?”

She just shrugs and doesn’t look up from her bowl.

“Two months.” The woman across the table from them says. She’s the later half of middle aged with fine lines around her mouth and eyes, and streaks of grey in the brown hair braided down her back. Interestingly, her eyes look at them keenly and there’s none of the dull acceptance he sees in almost everyone else. She raises an eyebrow at him expectantly and inclines her head in his direction. “Arla.”

The name might mean something or it might not, he’s not entirely sure. It’s common enough to be innocuous and she might very well just be being friendly, but he gets the sense she’s trying to convey something to them. And she’s looking at him like she _knows_ him.

“Any survival tips?” he asks.

“Don’t let them notice you.”

Obi-Wan gets the distinct impression the woman is incredibly good at that. He hadn’t looked at her twice until she’d spoken. “Is that why you’ve been here so long?”

“Partly,” she agrees, and he knows he’s missing a piece of information that keeps him from understanding.

The low-level murmuring stops in a wave and Obi-Wan peers over her head to see why. His stomach turns in a way that has nothing to do with the stew at the sight of Dooku following Ventress into the dining room. The silence is out of terror, not respect, and for once Obi-Wan’s thoughts agree with those around him.

“And where are they, my apprentice-” Dooku says, and Obi-Wan _knew_ he’d taken Ventress as his student, because the galaxy _knew_ they needed more SITH running around “-I want to see these promising warriors. I have need to supplement my guard.”

Obi-Wan has the creeping feeling Dooku means the pair of them and if he thought it would help, he’d give up his pride to duck behind the table. But there’s nowhere to run, so he simply sits and waits until Ventress’ wandering eyes meet his and the corner of her lips turn up.

“There.”

Dooku’s eyes follow her finger and settle onto Obi-Wan and Cody. One of his brows jump up into his receding hairline and his entire body goes suspiciously taunt in disbelief and recognition. Obi-Wan is satisfied he’s still able to draw a response out of his old adversary. He hasn’t lost his touch too much, at least.

When Dooku speaks, his deep voice fills the room, vibrating in the back of his throat and leaving everyone in no doubt as to what he says.

“High JEDI General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Marshal Commander Kote Fett, how very unexpected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've skipped to the end, Anakin loses his arm (canonically-ish). There aren't any graphic detail or anything, but this is just a heads up before you read! Limb loss used to really stress me out, but then my friend made me watch three seasons of Hannibal and now I'm cured. Who'd have guessed.
> 
> I know a couple of people guessed that would happen in the comments of the last chapter, so kudos to you!
> 
> People have also been guessing that Obi-Wan faked his death from the start of this fic, so kudos to you too! I think we all knew at least subconsciously because we're all a little scarred by the Hardeen arc.
> 
> Thank you for all of your lovely comments so far! I know this chapter was a bit dark, and the next one will be a bit too, but then hopefully it should lighten up. Even if Obi-Wan and Problems™ are never far apart :)
> 
> Next chapter should be up next Tuesday (26/5/20)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few things are clarified and Obi-Wan does not have a good time.

The edge of the walkway digs into his fingers, biting at his grip, willing him to fall. But he refuses and winces passed the pain to pull himself back up onto stable ground just as Qui-Gon and the SITH (the _SITH_ ) disappear out of sight. They round a corner, heading towards the generator room so that Obi-Wan can’t see either of them and he swallows back panic, because Qui-Gon knows it’s tactically a terrible decision to face a SITH _alone_. They’ve all heard the stories from the last war, frightened each other in the creche with tales of ruthlessness and cunning, with the very legends passed on from one generation of JEDI to the next in warning of a history not to be repeated.

So he pushes beyond his need to breath and shoves himself to his feet, grabbing his rifle where it’s fallen and runs after them, swapping out the clip as he does so because this SITH is proving far harder to kill than anyone that young should be. He has to be about Obi-Wan’s age, but he’s already heavily tattooed – even his _face_ , and it is frankly intimidating – and distinctively bald. It’s also clear he’s had training, and lots of it, likely from birth.

He’s a _SITH_.

They’re supposed to be _dead_.

He catches up just in time to see the generator shields flickering to life, separate all three of them, momentarily pausing the fight. A shimmery light of focused rays creates sheet-like barriers along the walkway, keeping Qui-Gon from the apprentice and Obi-Wan from Qui-Gon. It creates a moment where they’re all looking at each other (except that’s not true because Qui-Gon isn’t looking at _him_ ), simply waiting.

In the time he was removed from the fight, it seems to have progressed; Qui-Gon has swapped out his rifle for the longsword on his back, holding it with the guard down while he waits. It’s in response to the SITH who has procured a double-bladed sword and is swinging it in a menacing arc. Obi-Wan has never seen such a weapon in person before, only in the books in the Archives, the ones that are centuries old and depict ancient and outdated methods of warfare.

It’s like they’re planning on having some kind of old-world duel, which is _ridiculous_. But then he remembers the effort Qui-Gon went through to stop by his quarters and retrieve his longsword after they encountered the SITH in Naboo. It’s almost like he was _expecting_ this.

He blinks and the shields are down, and Qui-Gon lunges after the apprentice even as the apprentice makes it into the generator room. Obi-Wan is too far behind, and his general ignores his plea for him to wait, for them to take the SITH together like the team they’re supposed to be, and Qui-Gon rushes into the room with Obi-Wan unable to help. The last barrier slams down between him and the room beyond, and it’s all he can do to watch as his general engages the SITH without him.

This isn’t the first time Qui-Gon has ignored him, it isn’t even the first time he’s left him behind, but Obi-Wan thought that his general trusted his judgement enough by now. He should know how dangerous it is to take on a SITH alone. But then Qui-Gon hadn’t trusted him about Anakin. It’s obvious the child is both too old and unsuited for the life of a JEDI. There’s nothing _wrong_ with that, and it would be cruel to force that life upon him. (Not that is helps that Anakin _thinks_ he wants to be a JEDI because his _saviour_ is offering him the prospect of becoming a secret-agent-spy-soldier, an exciting prospect to a nine-year-old). Qui-Gon Jinn has never listened to an opinion that doesn’t agree with his own, not even the Council. While Obi-Wan will defend his general to his dying breath, he is self-aware enough to acknowledge his flaws.

Obi-Wan doesn’t have a sword because he’s not a general yet, so his fingers tighten on his rifle, holding it tight in his shoulder as he watches. The screech of metal on metal permeates through the barrier, a deadly song that cries out for death. It seems the they’re evenly matched and Obi-Wan is counting down the seconds until the barrier cycles upwards and he can _help_.

Then the apprentice feints and Qui-Gon shifts to catch one of the blades, leaving his front unguarded and the SITH takes the advantage and smashes his hilt into the JEDI’s face as a distraction. It’s only momentary, but it’s all the SITH needs drive home the other blade into his general’s sternum.

Qui-Gon’s face is a mixture of shock-pain-disbelief.

Obi-Wan realises he’s _screaming_.

Burning anger-horror-rage flashes through his system, flooding his body with too much adrenaline and his hands are _shaking_ in the way a soldier’s never should. It’s too much, too fast and he can’t take his eyes off his general as he sinks to the floor, limp. Obi-Wan knows he needs to let go of the emotions, that they’ll only make him rash and hasty and _very_ _dead_ (like his general), but he doesn’t _want_ to.

Then the barrier _does_ final cycle down, and Obi-Wan finally masters himself and doesn’t rush forwards to claw out the SITH’s eyes like he wants to, instead staying back to fire at the SITH. Somehow the SITH zags out of his line of fire (which should be _impossible_ in such a confined space) and then he’s on Obi-Wan in a second, knocking the rifle out of Obi-Wan’s hands and out of reach beneath the generator. Leaving him _defenceless_. Against a _SITH_. Making him as good as _dead_.

He ducks and rolls out of the way of the Sith’s sword, skidding backwards, towards Qui-Gon. It’s a feat of acrobatics that keep him alive and out of reach of razor-sharp blades, as he does his upmost to stay alive. His general’s sword lies at his feet and Obi-Wan knows he doesn’t have any other option (no matter how taboo it is to take someone else’s weapon). He lunges under the SITH’s circling weapon, timing it so that he doesn’t get sliced in half, and even then struggles to drag the sword in front of his face to block the SITH’s second follow-up strike.

He staggers to his feet to face his opponent and there’s a few moments where they stare at each other, eyes never straying, as they dare the other to make the first move. Qui-Gon’s sword is too heavy in his hand – it’s not the one-handed bastard sword he prefers, but a great two-handed monstrosity made for a giant – and it takes too much effort to heft it into a recognisable guard, the balance is all wrong too, much too far forward, and his entire stance bows off kilter.

The SITH grins knowingly. Obi-Wan snarls back.

He doesn’t know who moves first because it seems like they meet in the middle, Obi-Wan blocking both of the SITH’s blades in quick succession with the flat of the longsword’s blade, ducking from a higher strike and shifting his weight back to keep both of his eyes from a particularly vicious attack. The SITH presses all of his obvious advantages, driving Obi-Wan ever-backwards as he struggles to defend with his unwieldy weapon. Then he gets cocky, pretending to feint one way, stopping his blade for a fraction of a moment as he pretends to change direction, and Obi-Wan can see he what he’s doing and doesn’t fall for it, doesn’t hesitate to block where the strike is really going. The apprentice isn’t expecting his strike to meet any resistance besides flesh and it throws him off balance. It’s enough for Obi-Wan to swing the longsword against the man’s chest, the momentum of the heavy blade carrying is far through bone and sinew.

For a moment the world stops and the SITH’s eyes given away nothing but slow, dawning comprehension. Then Obi-Wan rips the longsword free and the man crumples to the floor in a rapidly expanding pool of his own blood. He stares for a moment at the gash that stretches from the man’s side to his midline, before kicking away the man’s strange double-sword (he’s taking no chances) and running over to Qui-Gon, dropping to his knees by his general’s side and allowing the too-heavy sword to fall from his grasp so he can cradle his general’s head.

“It’s too late,” his general whispers and Obi-Wan _knows_ that, knows exactly what a fatal wound looks like and how much blood is bad (it’s everywhere; on his hands and clothes and matting his general’s hair), but Qui-Gon _can’t_ die.

“ _No_.”

His general just smiles. “Promise me you’ll train the boy.”

Obi-Wan bites back all the reasons that’s a terrible idea (most of all because he’s sure once the boy learns what it means to be a JEDI he won’t _want_ to be one), and all of the undetermined variable that must go their way for that to be the case (like Anakin being accepted into the Order and Academy, and Obi-Wan being promoted to general so he _can_ eventually train the boy when he becomes of age). “Yes, general.”

“Train him,” Qui-Gon repeats and then his head sags and his eyes lose focus.

Obi-Wan feels the tears slip from his eyes, trying not to feel bitter his general didn’t wish him goodbye. He is not a child, he doesn’t need such comfort (but he _does_ ). And now he’s holding the corpse of someone he loves. _Again_.

“After this?” Cody spits. “After this, you don’t get to have feelings for me anymore. You let me think you’d died. I mourned you. Do you understand that? I cried over the burned remains of your corpse. I thought I’d lost you and now I _know_ that I have.”

Obi-Wan just stands there, small and helpless, because for the first time he doesn’t know what to say. Cody has never looked at him with such disgust before and it kills the small flame of hope in his chest faster than anything else possibly ever could. He’s starting to believe they can’t come back from this. “I’m sorry,” he says meekly.

“I am too,” Cody’s shouts, “I’m so _kriffing_ _sorry_ , we all are and right now it doesn’t meant _shit_.”

There’s screaming in the streets – and in his defence, there has been for _days_ with the riots – and sure, it might be a little more desperate and a little less jubilant, but he’s been trying to block it out so it’s not like he was listening for the difference. But now that he is, he can hear it.

It isn’t the cries of someone running from the Guard with an armful of stolen goods, but that of someone genuinely afraid for their life.

“What’s going on?” Ahsoka asks quietly, like she’s afraid to disturb the dark.

They’re hiding in the cellar of the house, and besides the lantern beneath the sheet, they don’t dare turn on any lights, in of fear of attracting outside attention. They’ve dragged the mattress from Obi-Wan’s bed and all of the duvets and blankets and cushions they could find and made a giant den on the floor, behind the washer and dryer. There’s the chest freezer down here with most of their food, and the dry goods stacked in the crate under the stairs. With the water tap from the washer they don’t have any reason to venture upstairs and there’re as safe as they’re going to get.

Obi-Wan has the hunting knife tucked into the back of his belt and none of them say anything about it.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly.

She’s tucked against his side, and it seems to comfort her. It’s rather un-JEDI like, and he has to force himself to accept her need for affection in order to allow himself to give it. Cody- Cody had always found his hesitation for physical touch strange, because in the Fett household there had been no personal space. They’d been working on meeting in the middle.

There’s a shriek too close for any of their comfort and Anakin flinches. Any change in the mood outside is dangerous and it’s best if they know what’s going on. Otherwise they could end up very dead.

He transfers Ahsoka to Anakin, and she mumbles angrily at him for moving her. Anakin just seems to take comfort in it.

“I’m going to look outside.”

He stands up, shaking his head at Anakin’s offer of company, and pulls the knife from his belt as he climbs the stairs and pulls the deadbolt back from the cellar door. The shouting is louder up here, and he follows it to the front door, opening it a crack to peer cautiously out.

And it’s _chaos_.

There’s _fire_ and _running_ and _wailing_ , and none of it is stopping.

The explosion earlier wasn’t one of the Guard’s water cannons, but a car crash and the chassis is still burning – the driver still behind the wheel, long dead – blocking off the street. People are running, clutching armfuls of belongings, bundling them into cars, readying themselves to flee. Obi-Wan hadn’t realised they were at that point yet.

And amidst all of that, causing the most commotion, are the dead.

He’s not seen them before, they weren’t supposed to be here. They were supposed to be far away, an abstract concept. Another person’s problem. He’s dealt with enough problems to last several lifetimes. But they’re here, and like he told Ahsoka when this first started, they’ll deal with everything as it comes.

One of them looks up from across the street, singling him out as one of the few calm entities in the middle of the panic. It’s not the muddy-brown rotting flesh or the hunch of bones pointing the wrong way, but the ruined _eyes_ that make the dread settle low in his stomach. They’re unseeing and somehow also far too knowing and inquisitive. They strip away the confidence he tries to project for Anakin and Ahsoka, the impression that he has everything under control and they are _safe_ , and it makes him feel uncharacteristically unprepared. Unworthy of their trust.

It makes him certain they can’t stay here, that they need to go. He’s heard of a refugee centre up north, for those displaced, and he’s pretty sure their neighbourhood being overrun by the dead (kriffing _zombies_ ) is enough for them to qualify.

The house is eerie quiet when he gets back from the barracks. It’s a Wednesday, which when Cody isn’t deployed, is his afternoon off. By the time Obi-Wan gets home the air is usually rich with the smell of spices and simmering food as he prepares dinner, and the table is always set. Normally he will find Cody is either singing along to the radio (something he’d never admit he does to his brothers and Obi-Wan finds oddly endearing) or swearing profusely when something inevitably fights back.

Today, though, the table is untouched and the lights are off. The air smells of last night’s dinner and the acrid taste of the silence that accompanied it, not some rare and obscenely hard to acquire Mandalorian spice Cody gets smuggled into the country when his cousins are stationed on Coruscant or he makes a trip home. The post has been left on the middle of the table, and it’s the only sign that anyone else has been here at all. In fact, it’s been left exactly in the middle of the place he always sits at and Obi-Wan feels dread settle in the pit of his stomach.

Obi-Wan lets his bag drop from his shoulder to the floor and stands behind his chair. He was wrong – it’s not the post. The only markings on the single envelope is Cody’s neat blocked letters spelling his name. _Kenobi_.

Obi-Wan opens the letter and reads it through twice. Then he goes to the kitchen and roots through the top cupboard above the sink until he finds the whiskey. He doesn’t bother with a glass, just slumps to the floor with the bottle, ignoring the way the cupboards have been gutted of all of Cody’s things.

Even the spices.

There’s the hiss and spit of metal, and the blade glows white-hot in the embers of the furnace. It’s not quite the right shape yet, the point is still too tapered, but he can see all of his designs coming together before his eyes. It doesn’t matter than his arms ache from the effort of hammering or the hair on the back of his hands has been singed away. Forging his blade is the last challenge to his appointment as a general and he _will_ _not_ fail.

He _cannot_ fail.

Qui-Gon’s lifeless eyes haunt him, burned into the back of his mind, judging him whenever he tries to sleep. So he doesn’t. Which is easier than he’d thought it would be. He has a small, frightened child to look after and when he isn’t doing that, there are plenty of loose ends to tie up and a hundred other things to do. There are _swords to forge_.

It’s a bastard sword, much like the training ones he’s spent his life practicing with. He’s known for a long time this is the weapon he’d make upon his appointment to general, he’s had the plans in a box under his bed for _years_. Many JEDI in modern times chose to fight with knives – much more practical for the modern battlefield – but while he’s passable with knives, he’s followed in the steps of his general. Because he’s _good_ with a sword and the fight with the SITH has shown him they’re far more relevant to the present day than most think.

It doesn’t even matter anymore that no other division or army fights with anything but a firearm (except _Maul_ , and the _SITH_ ). Forging one’s own weapon is a symbol, an acknowledgement of being worthy. It’s a sigil of the JEDI, in a way. One of the traditions that has lingered from their formation, surviving even the Ruusan Reformation.

And he so badly wants to be worthy.

The house is too quiet. Anakin has a college thing and Ahsoka is with some of her new friends from school, and it leaves him alone to bask in the silence of an empty house.

There are still boxes left to be unpacked, the last few things no-one quite has the time to put away, and he can’t even _look_ at them because they remind him that everything has changed and that Cody-

 _Fuck_.

He can’t do this sober and alone, not tonight. The whiskey is already half empty from the other night, but he knows for a fact that there’s a couple of bottles of shig that Co- that have been brought with them in the move, forgotten during the initial clear out. So he settles in their little living room with the telly on some late night horror channel and the bottle of whiskey, and the knowledge there’s more drink if he needs it.

Drinking alone. That’s not a place he’d ever thought he’d be. _Alone_.

Force but it _hurts_. And not in a way he can accept. It’s something deep and sucking in his chest, a yearning hole where his heart used to be. A limb, anything, would have been a kinder loss. Because he’s not sure he can live without his heart, not now. There’s nothing to take his mind off it either; he loves teaching, always has, but it’s a muted pleasure now, a brief moment of feeling slightly alive before he settles back into the dredge of simply existing. Grading papers and giving lectures can’t replace the work he used to do (lived to do, _loved_ to do), not really.

And as much as Cody is the biggest wound, he’s not the only one. Obi-Wan has left the JEDI, the only real family he’s ever known. He’s brough Anakin and Ahsoka with him and he’s infinitely grateful for their presence. They’re the family he chose. But there are still the friends he left behind, the ones he’s turned his back on. And he can’t contact them now, not ever again. It needs to be a clean break, to make it easier for all of them. They’re not just one comm away, they’re behind a huge wall he laid the foundations for.

And now it’s just the three of them against the world.

“What is this place?” Cody’s nose turns up in judging distaste at the thick layer of grease coating the cracks in the table, despite the well-scrubbed surface. “I didn’t have a fast food joint down as your idea for a date.”

“This,” Obi-Wan splays his hands, gesturing to the cantina, “is _Dex’s_. The Crown Jewel of Coruscant.”

Cody snorts. “That I highly doubt.”

Obi-Wan can’t help but grin at such blatant disdain. “This is where everyone comes post-mission or deployment to forget what rations taste like. And,” he adds, somewhat more grumpily, “ _sand_.”

The Battle of Geonosis may be nearly a month behind them, but between clean-up and several pressing and unofficial side missions, they’ve only be back on Deep Core soil for less than three days. And this is the first down time either of them have had since the War officially kicked off.

Cody makes a non-comital sound as he peruses the menu, and Obi-Wan finds the sound does something interesting to his insides. “If you say so.”

“Obi-Wan!” the booming voice of Dex himself calls from across the cantina, and Obi-Wan turns to see him shout something back through the kitchen hatch and approach the table. “Good to see you.”

“You too.”

“And you’ve brought a friend I see, wait- don’t tell me. He looks familiar, but he’s no JEDI.”

Cody raises an eyebrow at him and Obi-Wan mouths _later_. The JEDI are protected behind so many layers of secrecy and subterfuge that they may as well not exist to anyone but the very few in the know. Dex is perhaps the only person to _make_ himself one of the people in the know. His extensive list of underworld _and_ overworld contacts let him know everything, including highly classified government secrets. Obi-Wan is just glad he’s on their side and not the Separatists.

“Ha!” Dex shouts and Obi-Wan refuses to admit it’s only experience that stops him from jumping. Cody isn’t so fortunate. “You’re one of Fett’s lot. Early twenties, military bearing, wicked scar. Marshal Commander, it’s good to meet you.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes at Dex’s dramatics and tries not to feel smug at the somewhat fearful apprehension on Cody’s face.

“Just Cody is fine,” his date manages.

“Well, Cody, Obi-Wan I hope you enjoy your meal.”

Then Dex is gone just as quickly as he appeared, bustling over to accost another table as Flo appears with two plates in her hand.

“But we haven’t ordered?” Cody mutters to himself, confused, and Obi-Wan allows that maybe bringing him here for their first _official_ date was perhaps slightly cruel.

“You know,” Obi-Wan says thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’ve ever got that far here either.”

The leaves dapple the light, casting a hazy green glow around the floor of the orchard. It’s beautiful in the rare way something precious is; a fleeting moment, never to be recreated. A single moment of peace. The calm before the storm (and he’s had enough storms for several lifetimes).

Anakin is sat on one of the twisted roots, grinning as he shows Ahsoka how to juggle three apples in the air. Obi-Wan is sat slightly further away, watching with a smile on his face as Ahsoka inevitable throws one at her brother’s face and Anakin lets out an ungodly shriek of indignation.

The fact that there’s enough food for them to not worry about bruising or wasting the apples is a liberty he’s missed. There are far too many of them already rotting on the floor and in the trees for them to ever worry about running out. The end of the harvest – or it would be, if there was anyone around to harvest them – has been kind, and his bag is full of their day’s labour. They’ll have to move on soon, because you can’t survive on just apples forever, but for now they’re safe and there are mice and rabbits aplenty for them to catch, feasting on the apples, and foxes and tookas that feast on _them_.

They should be alright here for a while.

And it’s so blissfully _quiet_. There isn’t anyone else here (he doesn’t think about _why_ ) and it’s _nice_ to not have to worry about navigating the new social norms driven by flight-or-fight, or worry if shaky alliances will end in slit throats under moonlight. It’s just them, and enough food and a little less worry than they’re used to.

Naturally it won’t last. But, for once, he allows Qui-Gon to live through him as he stays in the moment.

Ahsoka’s head snaps to something on her left, tension plain in the lines of her body, all carelessness forgotten. Obi-Wan and Anakin are barely a fraction of a second behind, and the knife is in his hand before he can think. There’s a barely audible snapping of a branch that _could_ be a particularly brave rabbit or it could be death, and Obi-Wan silently gets to his feet, motioning for the others to do the same as he slips his backpack on. Anakin places the apples he was juggling on the ground as he and Ahsoka copy Obi-Wan.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he gets the sudden unsettling feeling he’s being _watched_. Slowly, he looks up into the dense web of branches above him.

And finds a pair of milky, unfocused eyes flickering back at him.

There’s more than one and he knows none of them were there a second ago (and the dead can, apparently, _climb_ ). They’re being swarmed from above and from the side nearest Ahsoka. In his peripheral, he can see Anakin and Ahsoka following his line of sight and the moment they see what he does, they stiffen, reflexively ready to-

“ _Run_!”

The bunkhouse is cramped and smells of misery and bodily fluids he’d rather not think about. Behind him there’s someone breathing rancid air down the back of his neck, which is marginally better than his face, and above him Anakin keeps shifting restlessly. Ahsoka is in the bunk opposite him, eyes closed but not asleep, curled around the thin sheet, subconsciously making herself small.

None of them have slept well since they arrived at the refugee camp, and it’s not something that’s going to change any time soon. They’ve been here nearly six weeks and Obi-Wan wishes they’d never come. It’s not the overcrowding or the frankly miserably food or even the aptly named Overseer. It’s the hopelessness that permeates everything here. It’s clear that nobody knows what to do with all of the people displaced by the disaster ( _end of the world_ ), nor how to feed them or clothe them or _save_ them.

It’s evident they’re a burden on the struggling Republic and the news reports that do filter into the camp inspire no hope of better days to come. If inside is chaos, outside is carnage. Republic forces are being annihilated by the combination of the disease and the Separatists, and there are talks of desertions and massacres and supplementing the GAR with the untrained, half-starved refugees just for the manpower.

Obi-Wan also hears the names of generals dying, one’s he knew (JEDI – friends in the creche and comrades in the field), and it fans the flames of his guilt because he isn’t there, fighting besides them. They may be wrong, fighting on the behalf of a deeply flawed institution, but that doesn’t mean they deserve to _die_ and at least they’re _trying_ to make a difference. He’s just rotting away behind the barbed wire fence of one of thousands of camps, _languishing_ , unable to do anything to help anyone.

But they can’t leave. It may as well be a prison for all the difference a name makes. Already, they’re used as cheap (free) labour and he quashes the thought he’s traded one kind of slavery for another. The soldier in him has the guards’ rounds memorised and the flaws analysed, but he’s yet to find an opportunity to exploit that, because the Chief Overseer of the camp – ironically (cruelly) is someone he knows in a professional capacity, Admiral Tarkin – runs a tight ship and he doesn’t want to risk either Anakin and Ahsoka more than he has to. He’s in no doubt that they’d fare better on their own, out there, than they could ever possibly in here.

It’s partway through the night, after the second shift’s change over, that the first fire is lit. Obi-Wan only sees it because he’s awake, and the hands of his watch read three thirty-seven in the morning which means the patrol is four and a half minutes behind schedule. They should be walking past the door, which blocks the light of the lamp outside the bunkhouse momentarily, stopping it from slipping through the crack under the door. He slips out of bed, because they’ve not been late once since he got here and that means something’s up, and tiptoes over to Ahsoka’s bunk to peer out the window. She shifts at his presence, dragging herself out from a half-sleep to look at him curiously. He puts a finger to his lips and she nods, standing on her knees to look out of the window with him, peeling back the edge of the net curtain.

The roof of the mess house is in flames, reaching up to the blackness of the night sky. It would be pretty, if Obi-Wan didn’t know Tarkin would use it as an excuse to not feed them come morning. Then a second jumps to life – he knows what an explosion looks like – over near the guard house and a third in the direction of the well. Within moments, half a dozen fires are burning fiercely and a shrill alarm rings out across the camp.

He’s not surprised, really. There isn’t a single person here who hasn’t considered dissent before they slump into passivity, and it seems some people have banded together to _act_. He also knows they’re not going to get a better chance to escape than this and moves to poke Anakin awake. Anakin opens a bleary eye just as the door opens and a guard starts shouting, ordering them out to help fight the fires.

Obi-Wan files out with the rest of them, Ahsoka’s hand in his and Anakin by his side. They follow the direction of the crowd as other bunkhouses are dragged out to join them, until they get to the work huts affectionately known as the Pens where the ground is marshy and wet. Then he pulls them behind one of the stacks of crates, when the guard on the corner is momentarily distracted by another explosion on the far side of the camp.

Anakin curses under his breath when he gets a splinter from one of the boxes and Obi-Wan rolls his eyes in cathartic exasperation.

“What now?” Ahsoka whispers, her eyes wide.

Obi-Wan’s runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the knots. “We make for the outer fence and try to get the hell out of here.”

“What about everyone else?” she asks.

He looks away guiltily, eyes on the plumes of smoke, darker than the deep blue of the night. It’s true that if they run away they’ll be abandoning the people within the camp, but they’ve been here six weeks already and they’ve not been able to help so far. As it stands, they’re in no position to help anyone and his first priority is getting Anakin and Ahsoka to safety.

“We can’t help them if we can’t help ourselves,” he tells her truthfully. “And it seems like someone else already has that covered.”

She doesn’t seem to like it, but neither does she protest and he takes that as his que and leads them down the alley between two of the buildings that make up the Pens. The ground is soft beneath their feet, and muffles their tread. Obi-Wan schools his breathing so that there’s no chance a passing guard can hear the sound and Anakin does the same. Ahsoka doesn’t, but in all the confusion it really doesn’t _matter_ because the patrols have all been diverted to help wrangle the prisoners into a useable force and they make it to the perimeter fence (via the hole in the inner one behind the toilet block) without meeting anyone. It’s luck, he supposes, that the fires are all behind them.

So, of course, that is when a two man patrol decides to show up, the darkness cloaking their presence until they’re too close for any of them to hide.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be here!” one of them shouts, and he can feel Anakin and Ahsoka freeze like rabbits in the headlights.

“Go!” he hisses, “get over the fence.”

“But-”

“Not the time to argue Anakin.”

The outer fence is supposed to be electrified, and all of the guards act like it is, but he knows better, because there isn’t nearly enough electricity going around to waste on something so trivial as the _protection_ of a refugee camp. Ahsoka heeds him and hesitantly touches the fence with a finger, and when it doesn’t instantly shock her, begins to climb. Anakin is moments behind.

The guards are running towards them and Obi-Wan is braced for a fight. They’re lucky that the guards aren’t armed with firearms, just shock batons, because otherwise they’d be picked off in moments. Obi-Wan blocks their way, buying Anakin and Ahsoka time if nothing else. Then one of the guards draws something that shines in the moonlight and he recognises that knife, because it’s _his_ knife, the one they took as _contraband_ when they were admitted.

The guard jerks forwards to try and slice at his face, but it’s clear that he’s had no formal training, and the movement is sloppy and only too easy to defend against. His friend waves their shock baton threateningly and then goes for his knees, just as the knife swings back for his face and he takes the hit in favour of having his face slashed open, twisting forwards as he grunts from the impact. There’s a distractingly sharp pain in his shoulder because any idiot has the upper hand in a fight with a knife, and he shifts his body in the direction of the attack, managing to catch the guard’s wrist when he tries to push the knife closer to Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan shove’s the man’s wrist into a lock, forcing him to drop the knife.

It gives him the chance to drop and roll, grabbing the knife as he does so. He evades the next hit of the baton, putting himself back between the fence and their attackers, before risking a glance up to see Ahsoka braving the barbed wire at the top with Anakin’s encouragement. His shoulder stings, and the cut is deep enough he can feel blood welling and dripping down his back.

The guard curses him in Ryl and doesn’t seem to appreciate when Obi-Wan does the same.

His newly unarmed friend lunges for Anakin’s leg and Obi-Wan lashes out with the knife, scoring a hit along their arm so they jerk it back. Then he’s spinning to fend off the retaliation of the second guard.

There’s a thump behind him as Ahsoka lands on the other side of the fence, shouting something to Anakin he doesn’t quite catch because he’s ducking the swing of the baton. It’s a mistake on the guard’s part because it puts him in the prime position to lunge for his throat. He gurgles around the blade, dropping to the floor to drown in his own blood as Obi-Wan pulls the knife free again, already turning to face the other one.

To find him on the floor, either dead or unconscious, next to a very large rock that wasn’t there moments before. Ahsoka is breathing very hard on the other side of the fence, holding another. Anakin drops to the ground behind her and meets Obi-Wan’s eyes with a weary look.

Then a shout from somewhere startles them out of the moment and the wind shifts so the thick, black smoke hangs in the air and tastes bitter on his tongue. He quickly wipes the knife on the fallen guard and tucks it back safely into his belt so he can climb the fence.

He responds to the summons immediately, weaving his way around the shelters that make up their camp to get to the command tent, peeling back the flap and nodding to the guard (Commander Vebb, he thinks) as he heads inside to find the present remnants of the Council huddled around a war table. They look up as he enters and a couple of them nod in his direction as he draws himself to attention and salutes. Grand General Yoda returns the gesture.

“Feeling better, you are?”

“I am, Sir.”

He is, for a couple of hours sleep and (more than he’d admit under duress) partly down to Cody’s company earlier. But the red dust of the arena is still caked to his boots – he had tried to polish them, but it’s everywhere, so it’s rather pointless – and he is a canvas of bruises and cuts and pulled muscles that will all take time to heal. So _better_ is an accurate description.

“Good.” The Grand General shuffles around the table. “Because have business, we do.”

Obi-Wan nods in agreement. He may have given his reports to the Council, but that far from means his part is over. ( _This is all his fault_ ). There is much to do in the wake of a newly-formed war and the sheer volume of the dead, and all the requisitions and paper work that need to be completed. That’s without considering the logistics of entirely _re-planning_ the structure of the GAR, so it’s better suited to wartime.

“ _Openings_ , we have.”

Obi-Wan can only assume he means on the Council, and given he’s neither on the Council and nor is it a question – they don’t want his opinion – he stays quiet. With the death of Council members there are now empty seats to be assigned and he admits he’s curious who they’ve found to occupy them.

“Field promotions to make.”

Because there are suddenly many empty ranks to be filled for the war ahead.

He waits in silence, knowing that to press for a direct answer from the Grand General is nothing but a fruitless and frustrating exercise. They’ll let him know why he’s here in their own time.

“Tell me,” General Windu asks, “what do you think of the Senate pushing through the reversal of the Ruusan Reforms?”

Obi-Wan hesitates to tell them the truth of what he thinks, but then they didn’t ask him here to hear platitudes and sweetened words. “I think,” he says carefully, “that we need to tread very carefully.” The Chancellor and the Senate electing to give the JEDI emergency marshal powers over the GAR and the legal protection to work without any kind of ramifications, no matter _what_ … he doesn’t think that’s a good thing. Especially with the speed at which they passed it, because it had to already be in the making. It takes them years to pass any kind of legislation and to go from that to sixteen hours? He doesn’t trust it. “There is more at play here than we have yet to understand.”

And that makes them _vulnerable_.

General Yoda hums in considering agreement.

“I think we are agreed,” General Windu says and nods at the Grand General.

“We are,” General Koon nods. General Fisto shifts behind him.

“General Kenobi,” Windu says, “the High Council hereby promotes you to the rank of High General and the associated responsibilities.”

A _Council seat_. For _him_.

After the stunt he pulled with Anakin and after the disaster they’ve just witnessed in the arena?

“Do you accept?”

There are hundreds dead today because of his failure to stop the War, their blood is still pooled in the Petranaki arena (it has a name, and that somehow is _worse_ ) amidst the shrapnel, and they want _him_ to lead soldiers into battle? They weigh on his soul, he realises, and he must do what he can to make it up to the dead. It is his _duty_ to accept.

“I do.”

There’s a brief pause in the enemy’s onslaught, room for all to catch their breath between assaults, and Obi-Wan finds himself in the command bunker. Nominally, he’s meant to be sleeping and he knows if either medics find him (they seemed to have adopted him as their latest lost-cause-turned-project) then he’ll never hear the end of it. But for now he’s safe and he takes the time to survey the map. _Again_.

This campaign isn’t really going in their favour and he’s never been so sick of mud and rain before. He’d even venture as far as to say it rivals the dust of Geonosis. It seems to have the same effect on their tanks and heavy artillery and the Mandalorian’s bucket filters. Force knows Cody doesn’t let him hear the end of it (that’s a lie, but Obi-Wan can interpret the looks he gets, and it doesn’t matter that Cody would never do anything as unprofessional as _complain_ about it.)

There’s the sound of armoured boots outside and then he sees Rex’s familiar armour. His Jaig eyes could do with a repaint after the last barrage of shrapnel assaulted their trenches (Cody had lain on top of him for his _protection_ because apparently the armour he wears isn’t enough), but he looks about as well as could be expected with supply lines cut and no imminent back up.

Rex pulls off his helmet and places it on the table, rolling his shoulders.

“Thought I’d find you here. Kix is gonna kill you, you know.”

“I’m aware,” he says dryly.

One of the many, many problems with the war is that the Republic has had to increase the required number of troops from each of its member states, and that means that there’s no longer just a single Mandalorian battalion, but many and it only makes sense for them to serve side by side because they’re far more effective together than apart. It also means that Rex’s battalion – the 501st – is serving alongside the 212th on this campaign, and much to Rex’s chagrin _under_ Cody. Cody also currently has charge of seven battalions as the highest ranking Mandalorian officer in the GAR (and, incidentally, the CCAM, answering only to the Mand’alor). It’s one hell of a promotion.

In a fateful turn of events, Obi-Wan has been assigned the 212th to work with him, and the 212th have been partnered with the 501st to work with _them_. And because Kix just happens to be the 501st’s medic, that means he unexpectedly has an awful lot of family stuck in this hell hole.

The rules on attachment suddenly seem a lot more relevant. Because he can’t put any of them first, not as their commanding officer, but he can’t let any of them die either. And Kix seems to think that as a medic _and_ his partner’s brother he somehow outranks Obi-Wan when it comes to his health.

Trust his family to make this more complicated than it needs to be.

“Have you seen Cody?” Rex asks, unsurprisingly.

“He’s scouting out the ridge.”

There’s a chance, if the assault doesn’t continue for a few more hours, that Cody could lead the 212th around the mountains to outflank the Seppies. But only if the terrain works in their favour and isn’t too muddy for their tank treads. He’s only not with him because somehow the Separatists seem to know he’s with the 212th so if he stays here, it gives the impression they are too.

Oh, and there’s an errant SITH running around.

His day has been karking _fantastic_.

JEDI aren’t supposed to hate, but Jabiim is making that unnecessarily _hard_.

“How did he take the pass?”

Given the pass had been a massacre, _not well_.

None of them had, and Rex knows that.

“As well as expected.”

“That bad, huh?”

“We lost Tricks and Sapper.”

“Oh,” Rex says, more subdued. “That would do it.”

Cody doesn’t get angry when he’s mourning, he just goes quiet and withdrawn, falling back on the comfort of familiar regs. Which is how Obi-Wan knows it’s really bad, and today it _is_ really bad.

There’s another set of feet heading angrily towards them and Kix appears angrily from behind the flap of the tent.

“You,” he says venomously (and Kix is aware Obi-Wan is his commanding officer, right?), “are supposed to be in bed.”

He pauses at the end of the path, suddenly nervous. Which is karking ridiculous, he’s a high general; he’s seen and survived things most people can’t conjure in their worst night-terrors, and he’s done that without blinking twice. But he’s afraid of meeting his boyfriend’s family like a kriffing _teenager_ (ignoring the fact he never had that opportunity at the Academy, but the point _still_ stands).

Cody notices him hover and grins. The bastard is enjoying this _far_ too much.

“It’ll be _fine_.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

He’s heard endless stories of Cody’s brothers and he knows an awful lot about Jango Fett (former leader of Mandalore’s GAR forces, former leader of the CCAM, the karking _Mand’alor_ – because his boyfriend’s family couldn’t just be a branch of the Fett clan, they had to be _the_ Fetts). He thinks he should be allowed to feel at least a little nervous.

In truth he’d expected something slightly grander than a farmhouse in the middle of the countryside for the leader of the Mandalorians. Maybe a palace or fortress or something more easily defended than the sprawling wooden buildings he can see. It’s large and open and clearly accommodates a great many people, but it has nothing on the Theed or Iziz Royal Palaces or any other royal residence he’s been in or seen. When he says as much to Cody, he just laughs and says his dad hates the Sundari palace and refuses to stay beyond office hours. As if the Mand’alor’s office hours ever end.

“Come on.”

Cody waits patiently for Obi-Wan to fall back into step with him as they walk the rest of the way to the house.

“A warning-”

“Don’t trust anything Fives says,” Obi-Wan cuts in, “or anything any of your brothers say. Or your Buir. Or your cousins. Or your ba’buir. Or any of your family. I know, you’ve reminded me. Many times.”

Cody looks a little put out at that and opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by the front door swinging open and a teenager – who looks uncannily like the baby photos of Cody that Rex sent him – with an unfortunate case of acne and an even more unfortunate phase-induced hair cut.

“They’re _here_ ,” he shouts back into the house and then there’s a stampede as more of Cody’s clones (do all Fetts look the same?) burst out of the doors and into the hallway to get a better look. “His boyfriend _is_ ginger, Rex wasn’t lying.”

“Fives,” Cody says with a long-suffering patience.

“No, it’s fine,” Fives says completely misinterpreting the tone. “We don’t mind. Echo owes me six and a half credits now.”

“That’s… oddly specific?” Obi-Wan offers, at a loss for what else to say.

“I wasn’t going to stake my _whole_ _allowance_ ,” Five says, as if that’s obvious. “Rex can be a little shit.”

Cody’s answer is reflexive and Obi-Wan can’t help the smile. “ _Language_.”

“You’re just old,” Five says, but finally steps back to let them through into the house to where the rest of the welcome party is waiting.

Despite all of the faces being familiar, the only one he actually recognises is Rex’s who’s stood behind a man who can only be Jango Fett grinning like a tooka who’s got the cream. He gives Obi-Wan lazy nod and his smirk widens when it settles on Cody. Jango himself gives nothing away and Obi-Wan suddenly remembers _why_ he was nervous. It may sound pathetic, but he wants his boyfriend’s family to like him because they’re important to Cody and so they’re important to him.

“General Kenobi,” Jango says, his face assessing and doing nothing to hide the fact.

“Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan inclines his head, the JEDI in him resisting the urge to bow. He doesn’t think that would go down well.

Next to him Cody sighs. “Buir,” he says warningly. “Please don’t.”

Jango raises an eyebrow at his oldest and some kind of battle of wills passes between them, and Obi-Wan has no idea who wins.

Then Jango steps backwards and gestures. “Welcome to my home, please, dinner should be ready soon.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

That does make him feel like a teenager, calling him Sir. But it was Cody’s buir that started with the ranks and, well, Mand’alor is his. He outranks them _all_.

“Please, call me Jango.”

Well then.

He finds the 212th’s command tent easily enough. It’s the one that’s slightly larger than the rest, the same sand coloured canvas, but a strip of two-twelfth orange flying from the top, innocuous to all but those who know what it means. The guard doesn’t stop him as he enters, taking one look as his sword (someone found it in Dooku’s newly vacated quarters, and he’d taken it back with a small amount of mortification) and making the educated leap that he’s with the rest of the _top-secret non-existent super-soldiers_ that have been running around Geonosis all day.

Inside he finds Cody again, signing things off on a datapad, bags under his eyes. He snaps to attention at the sight of Obi-Wan and gives a perfect, crisp salute.

“General.”

“At ease, Commander,” he waves Cody off. He’s never liked military theatrics, but they’re a necessary evil he must endure.

There’s a tense moment where Cody hesitates, reading him earnestly. “Cody is fine, Sir. Are you feeling better?”

Obi-Wan feels his shoulders ease out of their stiffness at the less formal display. “Obi-Wan, please. And I am, thank you.”

A bit sore, but nothing lasting.

Cody puts his pad to one side and stands, stretching subtly as far as his armour will allow. He’s foregone his helmet, and the dirt on his face from before has been scrubbed away, along with the worst of the dust on his armour. Obi-Wan can see the deep carbon scoring more clearly now, from the blast Cody protected him from, and his eyes trace the distinctive sunburst of black soot.

“It seems we’re to work together for a while.”

Cody nods, taking a few steps closer. “Orders just came through. You neglected to mention you were a JEDI. I’ve never seen so many in one place before.”

 _Ah_. Obi-Wan supposes as a Marshal Commander he’d be informed, and it doesn’t take a genius to make the leap that everyone else dressed like him, wielding blades of varying descriptions, are JEDI too. “Yes, well. Things were happening.”

“You were fainting,” Cody notes.

Obi-Wan tries not to reflexively run a hand through his hair as he struggles to hide his embarrassment. “I was.”

Cody picks his pad up again and begins to scroll, looking for something. “Nice sword, by the way.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, because that’s always the first thing anyone says and it’s obvious Cody knows it. “Thanks.” It’s rare (but more often than you’d think) that he fights with it, but it’s certainly more than ceremonial. “I suppose we better start planning.”

Cody nods and hands over the pad.

He’s never been so angry in his entire life and that… that is saying an awful lot. He’s not a naturally angry person by nature, and when he finds himself slipping, he’s more than adept at releasing his feelings. But this, this is proving too much, even for him. The Council don’t understand, and they make no attempt to. It discredits them more than they care to imagine. They’re becoming so out of touch with everything around them – wilfully aloof and removed – that they can no longer see the stars for the night sky.

Hell, he knows he’s guilty of the same thing – he is on the Council, he’s not innocent in this – but at least he acknowledges there’s a problem. He doesn’t pretend to be above such petty things as mistakes.

“Successful, this mission was.” General Yoda inclines his head in Obi-Wan’s direction, all wizened age and venerable mystery.

Something inside Obi-Wan _snaps_.

He never loses control, not ever. It’s a luxury he cannot afford and so he doesn’t. Every move he makes has to be carefully premeditated because otherwise people get hurt. But others have been hurt anyway and that’s his fault, premeditation or not. Which means he’s _failed_.

He doesn’t react outwardly, nor does he raise his voice.

Instead it finalises a decision that has been longer in the making than he would like to think.

“No,” he says, “I wouldn’t say so.”

“Was the Chancellor not saved?” General Windu leans forward to meet his eyes.

“Oh, of course.” Obi-Wan doesn’t scoff, he just _implies_ he is. “But that hardly means the mission was a success.”

“Forgive me,” General Windu – and he’s not Mace, not when Obi-Wan is seething on the edge of rage – “but I am a little confused. How would you define success?”

“I would not define success as the betrayal of trust for everyone I hold dear.”

Cody’s emotionless blank face when everyone finally left them alone, in that room together, will follow him to the grave.

“Attachments, we cannot afford. Make us weak they do, know this you do, _General_ Kenobi. At war, we are.”

“No.” Every eye on the Council turns to him, and he refuses to blink under their scrutiny. “That is a wilful misinterpretation of our Code and you know it.”

To challenge the highest ranking officer of their Order is toeing the line of insubordination and it means a significant amount to say he is beyond caring of the ramifications. He’s worked hard to cultivate a reputation as someone who will always do what is asked of them.

But then they asked _this_ of him.

“Being unable to let go of our attachments is what we cannot afford. But attachments themselves? They’re what make us strong, they keep us fighting even in the darkest hour.”

He thinks of Cody and Anakin and Ahsoka. Without the three of them, he would do his duty, but there would be no conviction behind it. Without the support of those he loves, he wouldn’t be as strong and he is self-aware enough to admit it.

And because of this, because of what they asked of him, he fears he’s lost Cody for good. It isn’t selfish attachment that makes him say what he says next – no, it’s _love_. He’s got Anakin out of here already (much to his own detriment), and now he has got Ahsoka out of here as well, because he knows that staying with the JEDI would ultimately destroy them both as it has destroyed him (destroyed _Cody and Obi-Wan_ ). He loves them too much to ask them to stay.

He stand heavily, feeling the words out before he says them. He’s sure they feel right and he _knows_ he cannot stay. He draws his sword, feeling its balance one last time, before he flicks the grip in his hand and pro-offers it horizontally to General Yoda. There is no way to resign – from the Council yes, after years of service, but not from the JEDI completely – but the sword is the sign of his appointment to General and so it feels appropriate to give it up as he steps away.

“I formerly tender my resignation.”

There a confused pause and then everyone seems to speak at once.

“What-”

“That’s unprecedented-”

“You can’t just-”

“The _audacity_ -”

“What about your troops?”

The last one is the most valid concern, but Obi-Wan knows Boil is more than capable of leading them and that they will be reassigned another general eventually. It hurts to know he’s leaving them, but he’s also in no position to lead them, not with his faith fundamentally failing.

It’s only General Yoda who stays silent, staring at Obi-Wan’s sword with a deep sorrow he almost feels guilt for causing. Then his gnarled hands reach up and take the blade, his shoulders sagging.

It is done.

It’s unexpected.

Fives – and Obi-Wan agrees with Rex’s assessment – is a little shit, and he mutters something about Obi-Wan’s virtue that Obi-Wan himself doesn’t quite catch. There’s a stinging exchange of words in rapid Mando’a between brothers and then Cody is leaping up to defend him, chasing Fives and then Echo around the field with an enthusiasm he rarely shows on the battlefield. Rex is stood grinning a few metres away with Kix, watching the firepit and his brothers, declining to join in. Boba is asleep in the lounger by the house with their ba’buir.

It leaves Obi-Wan with Jango, and ordinarily that would make him feel ill at ease. But the air is warm and there’s a light breeze to take the edge off Mandalore’s summer heat. He’s full and sleepy and he can’t keep the grin off his face as he watches Cody fly-tackle Fives to the ground in his defence. He’s _content_ he realises, and that knowledge settles deep in his bones.

It’s not often they get moments like this. Jango is usually called away on important official business, and at least one of his sons or Obi-Wan are deployed, or they don’t have a chance to be in Mandalore at all and instead are stuck in the Core in Coruscant. It’s almost like the stars have aligned to bring them this one evening all together, and they’re determined to enjoy it while they can (with the exception of Boba who is too young to understand, and worn down from the effort of keeping up with his siblings all day).

“Thank you,” Jango says out of the blue and Obi-Wan turns to look at him in confusion. “For looking after Kote, but mostly for making him happy.”

Obi-Wan shrugs self-consciously. Being validated by Cody’s buir means a lot. “He’s the one that makes me happy. I- I _try_ to return the favour.”

For some reason Jango snorts and doesn’t say anything for a moment, so Obi-Wan thinks that’s the end of the conversation. Then he speaks. “He’s always been serious, but even so it’s been a long while since I’ve seen him smile like that. Not really since their mother died. They were close and I think it hurt him more than he’ll ever admit.”

Obi-Wan swallows reflexively. He can’t really claim to know what it’s like to lose a parent because he’s never had one. Qui-Gon had been as close as he’d ever been, but even then-

Today is a happy day, so he pushes those thoughts away.

It goes from a morbid joke to something far more serious almost overnight. One day the internet takes great delight at the prospect of a disease that takes peoples minds and beholds them to their hunger, at the concept of actual real _zombies_ , and then the next they’re decrying it as plague sent from above to punish sinners or the _end of the world_.

Then there’s the broadcast.

Obi-Wan switches off the television with a sense of finality and the three of them sit on the couch in grim silence. Even Ahsoka has nothing witty to add, and Anakin has no more avenues to chase conspiracies down. It’s so real and so absurd. It’s a bit like the world is ending, and he might voice that if the silence surrounding them wasn’t quite so trepident.

They’re in lockdown, now. To stop it spreading.

They can’t leave the house.

It’s _bad_.

It almost makes the War take a back seat (and there’s the usual wave of guilt when he thinks about the War, and leaving), but he knows they’re still out there, fighting anyway. Without him (and that was _his_ choice). A small voice in the back of his head says it’s far too convenient that this is happening now, so close to the pinnacle of the War, but he doesn’t quite know how it benefits anyone so he bites his tongue.

“Well, fuck,” Anakin offers.

Obi-Wan can’t even find it in him to look judging.

“Quite,” he agrees.

“What happens if they can’t contain it?” Ahsoka asks, sounding uncharacteristically small.

She’s not yet sixteen and sometimes Obi-Wan forgets just how young she still is. There’s an air JEDI children tend to have that make them seem older, and Ahsoka is definitely still a JEDI child. Three years out of the Academy haven’t changed that. There’s a certain expectation she places on herself to take responsibility for things she shouldn’t have to, not for years.

It makes him sad if he thinks on it for too long.

“They will,” he says, because that’s what’s expected of him. In truth he doesn’t know what will happen. This is all so unprecedented that _none_ of them know. It’s all guess work and predictions and she has every right to fear it, but she shouldn’t have to. “And if not, we’ll deal with that as it comes.”

That is a promise he can make to them. To always be there, as long as he is able, and to do his upmost to protect them.

“Is that the last item on the agenda?”

Obi-Wan knows this is the best chance he’s going to get.

“No,” he says, forestalling the other Councillor’s leaving. “There is one more thing I’d like to discuss.”

“Oh?” Mace settles back into his chair. He looks about as tired as Obi-Wan feels.

But Ahsoka is relying on him and he has to do this for her sake. Anakin too, but he’s already safety squirrelled away at college. He and Cody have talked this over extensively, and they both _want_ to, and she wants out and it seems like a good solution for all. (They’re in the middle of a war, and the both of them are frequently (always) deployed, but she can’t stay here and Jango had said she could stay at the farmstead with him and it’s not brilliant but it’s better than the alternative.)

“Initiate Tano,” he says and there’s a collective sigh. Even from Plo (and with the number of people he wants to adopt he has no grounds to stand on.)

“Obi-Wan, we can’t go through this again,” Adi says kindly but firmly. “Not again. Anakin was enough.”

He never adopted Anakin, he just got him out of the Academy. He had neither been suited to the JEDI and nor had he wanted to be, and that, Obi-Wan thinks, is the crux of the problem. “We cannot force people to be JEDI if they do not want to be. We must allow people to leave if that is what they wish. We must serve willingly or we are condemning our own people to slavery.”

He wants to be a JEDI, he knows it’s his calling, but to force that lifestyle on the unwilling? That is nothing short of cruelty and subjugation. It is wrong, he whole heartedly believes that, and he doesn’t see why others can’t see it. He joined the Council so that he could try and make amends for his part in the War, to protect people who could not protect themselves. He just hadn’t realised the Council themselves would be working against him.

“Obi-Wan,” Mace says warningly and fixes him with a glare that might have worked once, before the War. Technically, as Head of the Order, Mace is his superior, but they’ve long since crossed the line of first names and with it came the ability to argue back. “Now, of all times, we cannot afford to lose numbers. We are dying and we already don’t have the replacements. We cannot simply let people _walk away_.” He says it with such distaste, that it’s clear he thinks that to be the biggest sin of all.

Obi-Wan just raises an eyebrow. _Slavery_.

One of the many things they’re supposed to fight against, and the Council is _heralding_ it.

“If people do not want to be here, they will find a way to walk away whether _you_ wish them to or not.”

His words are close to heresy in modern times. Once, decades (two centuries) ago, it would have been the norm for the Council to let people walk away. That was before their numbers dwindled in budget cuts and the effort it took to put someone through the Academy became too much to lose them. But then before the Ruusan Reformation, there would have been less eyebrows raised at his relationship with Cody. But he’s not a monk and his has taken no vows of chastity, who he choses to live with and bind himself to are none of the Order’s business unless it affects his work, and he’s been careful to ensure it hasn’t. He refuses to be ashamed either – it may be attachment, but attachment itself is not the problem, it’s being unwilling to let go of those attachments that is. And that was the main reason Anakin could never dedicate himself to the JEDI, why he was unsuited. That’s the problem with training them from children; they’re taken in before they know who they are.

Which is why they need the option to _walk away_ , should they wish.

Grand General Yoda sighs, wearily, and Obi-Wan knows he’s playing up to his age but he can’t exactly begrudge it of him. When one passes from simply old to ancient, there are certain privileges that become available. “Make this difficult for us, you do.”

Obi-Wan inclines his head in acknowledgement. He never said it would be _easy_.

“Perhaps,” Yoda continues, “if reconsidered the mission you do, then reconsider certain allowances for Initiate Tano, we might.”

The _utter bastard_.

He’s already refused, point blank, to convince Cody and Anakin and everyone else he cares about that he’s dead for the sake of a mission. He’s always done everything they’ve asked of him, but there is a line and they have leapt over it with abandon. There’s always another way and it’s one of the many things the Council refuses to see. He can’t do that to Cody. If Cody did that to him, he’d-

But the problem is the Council have just given Ahsoka the out she so desperately wants, that Anakin wants for her. And all that’s standing in her way is Obi-Wan’s stubbornness. It wouldn’t be a solution for anyone else who wanted to to leave, but it would be a _start_.

Obi-Wan sighs and Yoda smiles in self-satisfaction, knowing he’s won.

The pain is sudden and sharp, and he clenches his teeth so hard he fears they might crack. Ventress cackles from somewhere out of sight and he freezes involuntarily in anticipation of the next wave.

He’s lost track of how many days he’s been here. There are no mealtimes and there’s no daylight to measure by. Hell, there isn’t even any _water_ given to him. The back of his throat is cracked and dry, making his breath rasp in his throat with each laboured intake of air.

 _Everything_ hurts.

It’s clear he’s not Ventress’ first project; she’s had lots of practice before him and has prolonging suffering down to a fine art. From the reflexive fear he’s developed to the sound of her voice, to the way he cringes away from her touch, he know she has him _exactly_ where she wants him and the enjoyment she gets from it is so obviously sadistically she can only be a SITH.

He just wants it all to stop.

Cody stands there in the doorway, his expression morphing from unimpressed to downright _hostile_.

Obi-Wan is covered in the dead thing’s gore, clutching the knife, feeling exactly as small as the last time they spoke. Cody shouldn’t be here, he _should_ be safe, with his brothers far away. He shouldn’t be here to be upset by Obi-Wan’s existence all over again.

Not for the first time, Obi-Wan wants to stop existing.

He’s still hopelessly and utterly in love with Cody.

The entire hall seems to zero in on their presence as they turn to find the focus of Dooku’s gaze. Obi-Wan has never liked the spotlight because being noticed means nothing but trouble, and this is only proving him _right_.

It must be the two of them sat together that finally triggers the recognition in Dooku’s eyes. Because they were always together, before. They were a pair, on the field and off, and they faced Dooku and Grievous and Maul more times than Obi-Wan cares to count.

“High JEDI General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Marshal Commander Kote Fett, how very unexpected.”

His brother’s arm is nothing but a stump and the horror still fresh on Ahsoka’s face speaks volumes.

Because Obi-Wan waited too long to try and save him.

It’s _his_ fault.

Ventress (it’s not the Lady anymore, and there’s a reason for that but he can’t _remember_ ) is here. He can hear her footsteps; they’re lighter than the Clankers’, and far more deadly, circling him like he’s prey.

“General Kenobi,” she purrs, “we have some time alone again.”

That makes Obi-Wan want to scream (why does that make him want to _scream_?) but he can’t because there’s something in his mouth – like a bit, for a horse – held in place by the hood over his eyes. It’s thick and made of coarse leather and is _chafes_ when he moves his face, so he does his best to hold still.

“I have plans for us, of course. I wouldn’t want you to grow bored of my company.”

Boredom is a blessing never bestowed upon his life.

She steps closer to him (he can hear it and feel her breath through the eyes of the hood) but she’s too close for him to focus. He doesn’t think he _can_ focus. The world is hazy and distant and it doesn’t seem to matter how hard he tries to concentrate, it never becomes any clearer.

“It’s a new toy,” she continues. “Well, toy may not be the right word. Drug, perhaps.”

He can feel the panic clawing at his chest again (why can’t he be calm, what can’t he remember?) as she places a single finger on his chest.

“Don’t worry,” she says, “it’s safe. We’ve already tested it on the Commander and he was very… _receptive_.”

 _Cody_. There’s a snarl he can’t quite help, but she just laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry, it didn’t harm him. Physically at least. It simply induces the recollection of highly potent memories. Vivid hallucinations of strong emotions.”

Because there’s more than one way to break someone. And for a person who has many, many _potent_ memories, that can be very dangerous. He flinches back from her touch, but he doesn’t have anywhere to go because the bindings hold him fast and she just _laughs_.

“I’ll be interested to hear what’s in your head, General.”

Oh, but he isn’t. There are things he’s forgotten for a reason.

There’s a sharp pinch in the crook of his arm and ice in his veins.

***

He comes back to reality with a gasping intake of breath and the taste of blood thick and slick in his mouth, throat raw and head throbbing intensely. It takes a moment, for him to piece together what’s real. There are strange images; corpses running wild in the streets, Cody’s back turned to him, a house he doesn’t recognise but he _knows_ is his, a university full of students his alter ego teaches and horrors he knows haven’t happened to him yet. There’s still some of the drug in his system, he thinks, because the edge between reality and the dreamworld are still blurred and he can’t _see_ because there’s something covering his face. The _hood_.

He’s alone, he thinks. Good.

Ventress’ latest methods are less… physical than her earlier ministrations (and he can feeling the linger reminders of _that_ ). It’s different to the other ways she’s tried so far. Drug induced hallucinations of pivotal moments in his life, stirring up old traumas – that’s a new technique, he’s not seen before. They’ve already decided physical pain isn’t working well enough for them and so they’ve moved on to _this_.

Then he remembers her threats about Cody, and he remembers that he needs to get to him. He doesn’t know yet if they know he and Cody are _together_ together – they’ll only know if Cody’s told them, and then Obi-Wan will also know they’ve broken his commander – but they haven’t brought it up yet, so he thinks they still have time before that’s used against them. They need to get out of here and find a way to contact the GAR somehow (or anyone really). He doesn’t know where they are, but he has vague recollections of Jabiim and the wave after wave after wave of Seppies they’d tried their best to hold back.

(He can’t remember if they failed, but he’s here, under the care of this new SITH, so it’s hard to imagine things went _well_.)

The hood – mask? _Mask_. It has eye holes – is hot and uncomfortable, and the little he can see through the slits is non-descript wall. It presses on the wounds around his neck, stinging bitterly, but it’s more than that. There’s something he can’t quite remember about it that makes him afraid. He, Obi-Wan Kenobi, High JEDI General of the Grand Army of the Republic, Councillor, isn’t afraid of much and what he is? He’s not sure he wants to stick around to meet it again.

His arms are chained high above his head – they’ve long since lost feeling – and it pulls him up to balance on his toes in a textbook stress position. From the cramping in his shoulders, he might have failed to maintain it while he was under, and his calves are already burning from taking over the burden again. He’s pretty sure he’s been stripped to the waist too (memories of a _knife_ and some kind of thin whipcord and _pain_ ) and the room is just on the right side of hot to make sweat drip down his back, stinging the mess of wounds there.

Kix and Helix are never going to let him hear the end of it when he gets back to them and he has a feeling his excuses are going to fall on deaf ears.

Then there’s a creak, a door being opened, and the sound of slow, confident footsteps entering the room. Obi-Wan can’t see who it is, but his entire body goes stiff in anticipation of Ventress’ return.

Except it’s not Ventress. It’s someone _worse_.

“General Kenobi,” the voice greets and he would know that anywhere, even in his night-terrors.

 _Especially_ in his night-terrors.

 _Dooku_ , he would spit back, if it weren’t for the bit.

“I see my apprentice has been spending time with you as of late.”

He can still snarl, it seems.

And Dooku can still project his sneer into his words. Obi-Wan just wishes he could _see_ his enemy.

“I almost didn’t recognise you. The refined and well-bred Obi-Wan Kenobi living like a street rat in the sewers. It’s quite the fall; I might have even believed it, if not for the stunt you pulled with Hardeen. Leaving the JEDI, really? We both know you of all people would never do that. The Council could at least have chosen someone _believable_ to act out their plans.”

Obi-Wan is glad the hood hides his confusion. Him, leave the JEDI? It’s rare that he agrees with Dooku, but he’s right. Obi-Wan would _never_ do that. There are far too many people relying on him for him to even consider it. Being a JEDI is a major facet of his identity. He’s not even sure who he’d be without them.

“I apologise for your reception here, but you have put us in rather a bad position. Trying to spy on us from within out own ranks was hardly the most stealthy of ways, even for a JEDI, and it creates quite the problem for us. We can’t have JEDI running around, getting in the way, trying to stop our efforts. Which you are all _so_ good at.”

Glaring through the hood is difficult.

“So I need to know where you and your Council are hiding, and how exactly, you plan to oppose us.”

Obi-Wan makes a noise in the negative, because it’s expected of him and he’s not quite got his bearings yet. There’s something he can’t _remember_ and it’s _important_. Never mind, that he doesn’t know what Dooku is talking about. Why would the Council be in _hiding_? Their members may be depleted and not always present in the Chamber, but they’re not cowering in the dark. And neither is he. It was no secret he was in Jabiim before this – Dooku has taken him from there, he should _know_.

“Now, I know you’ll never give them up willingly, not even for your precious Commander” – he _can’t_ know, (but Dooku is right, neither of them would ever put the other first over the War effort) – “but there are certain ways to warp a mind until you lose your concept of right and wrong and will willingly tell me.”

Obi-Wan doubts he’ll ever do anything willingly for Dooku. He would also die before giving away his people. Even if he _could_ remember where they are.

He can hear the footsteps move to recede and then stop. “Is the GAR here too?” Dooku asks and Obi-Wan can feel his brows draw up in confusion. “I can imagine JEDI being tenacious enough to linger, but the remaining factions of the GAR?”

Why would the JEDI be anywhere without the GAR in the War? He knows theoretically it’s an _ideological_ War, but the reality is very different and the death is very real. The Republic has given the JEDI command of the GAR, they fight alongside each other. Dooku should know one would not be without the other. The JEDI have control of hundreds of GAR battalions. Dooku is engage with dozens of them on different fronts.

So what, exactly, is he asking?

“Never mind, I did not expect an answer.”

The door thuds behind him and Obi-Wan allows his body to sag in relief. He knows it will not be long before the apprentice is back to torment him, and he certainly won’t be allowed to sleep so he should save Kix a major cardiac event and rest while he can. But he also has to escape and get to Cody before they do something unforgivable to him.

He would never ever forgive himself if something happened to the love of his life.

Above him he can hear the sound of pipes and it gives him an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this chapter was waaaaaay longer than I thought it was going to be, which is my rather flimsy excuse for why this is late. Believe it or not, there were other scenes I wanted to include but then I checked the word count and decided that might be a little ridiculous. I tried to answer some of the major questions in the comments with the flashbacks (at least the non-spoiler ones) and there were a couple that have been in my head for a while.
> 
> Next chapter is going to be from Cody's point of view, so heads up for the perspective shift!
> 
> So this entire project turned out to be a lot bigger than I'd originally planned, and I have a few longer-term ideas that won't fit with this arc, which means that I'm planning on writing them as separate parts. This part of the story will have two more chapters (if everything goes to plan, which, Star Wars) and then this arc should be continuous with the next one pretty much. Hope you stick with me!
> 
> As always, all of your comments and kudos are very much appreciated X  
> The next update should be on Tuesday (3/6/20)!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody has many feelings and one heck of a bad day

Cody has been staring at the wall for a very long time. If he weren’t so grateful for the quiet, he might even be _bored_. There’s an interesting crack just above the door that looks a bit like Mandalore if he tilts his head and he’s slightly more fascinated by it than he should be, but if he focus on that then he doesn’t have to focus on how small the room is or what they’re doing to Obi-Wan.

He can hear the screams.

Obi-Wan _doesn’t_ scream.

Whatever they’re doing to him… he’s seen Obi-Wan after a hundred missions gone wrong, seen the way he sinks into himself, goes all contemplative and self-depreciating when he loses too many troops ( _any_ troops), or the way he used to curl up in their bed around Cody if things were really bad and simply _hold_ _on_. Sometimes there was whiskey involved, sometimes there wasn’t, and sometimes he would wake shouting in the middle of the night with untold horror flashing behind his eyes.

But he never screamed.

And it makes Cody afraid.

Because it’s clear whatever they’re doing to him, it’s nothing on what they’re doing to Obi-Wan. Both of them can take a beating (they’ve had _practice_ ) and both of them have been rigorously trained to withstand brutal interrogation, and the Seppies (they’re here, _now_ , and he has a lot of _feelings_ about that) must know that too. The SITH must be well versed in interrogating a JEDI, and it sounds like they’re putting everything they learned into deadly practice.

And Cody is _useless_. There’s no give in the manacles, and the metal digs at his wrists. The skin is rubbed raw from the effort of trying to pull his hands free, and the blood crusted on his skin _itches_ , but Obi-Wan had been _screaming_. And Cody is self-aware enough to know that’s still the worst way to torture him, because a part of him will always be tempted to save Obi-Wan no matter what, even if that means giving them what they want to make them stop. If he ever did give into that self-indulgent part of himself – which he never would, because they were always clear to each other that the mission and War came first and hadn’t _that_ come back to bite him – he doesn’t actually know the answers to the questions the Lady keeps asking him.

She acts like he’s here for a larger reason than Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.

And, damn. He’s not focusing on the crack anymore.

There’s the sound of footsteps outside and he tenses in preparation for round… whatever round of this farce they’re on. Except it’s not Ventress that opens the door and it’s not Dooku either, though he’s only come here once so far, and briefly at that. It’s the woman from the table. _Arla_ , he remembers despite everything that’s happened since, because it just happens to be his aunt’s name too. It’s hard to forget when his Buir always says it so softly and sadly, alongside his mother’s.

She peers around the door and then slips inside and closes it, careful not to make a noise in a way that lets him know she’s _definitely_ not supposed to be here. She gives Cody a once over and winces when she gets to his face. He knows he’s looked better, but he thinks she shouldn’t be so surprised. She’s thin in the way everyone is now, hovering constantly on the edge of hunger, and it makes the stress lines on her face stand out more and the bags under her eyes darker. But it does nothing to mute the bright defiance in her eyes.

“I thought you’d be in the better condition of the two, but now I’m not so sure.”

Cody snorts and then immediately regrets it as his entire face and the side of his chest flare in pain. Arla gives him a concerned look, and he shakes his head – which is _not_ a good idea either. _Fuck_.

“’M fine,” he manages unconvincingly. It doesn’t help that his voice is raspy from lack of use (he’s _not_ talking to Separatists) or that he’s literally dying for water. Dehydration is a bitch.

“Right,” she says, and he notes she flattens her _R_ s in the way people from Concord Dawn do. “You’re Kote Fett, right?”

“Cody,” he says reflexively, because he has no idea how long it’s been since he’s heard his name, and it might be a little but desperate but he needs a reminder that he’s human and not a cog in the machine Ventress insists he is. The Lady calls him only by his rank, and she makes it sound so _dirty_. He just wants someone friendly to say his name. And he _thinks_ Arla is a friendly. She hasn’t punched him yet, but then he’s fairly sure she is Mandalorian, so that might be more out of pity for his current state than anything else.

This time she snorts and her face scrunches in a way he’s oddly familiar with. “Glory not good enough for you, kid?”

It’s been a long time since _anyone_ has called him kid. He’s the oldest of six brothers, his father’s heir, the last leader of the CCAM and the Marshal Commander for Mandalore’s forces. It’s not like there _is_ anyone besides his buir to call him kid. “Something like that.”

“Jango’s eldest?”

“Yeah.”

He’s fairly well known in Mandalore and she’s clearly at least from the Mandalorian province, so it’s not a stretch to say she knows who he is. He just wishes he knew who _she_ was. And he also likes to think he has enough accomplishments of his own to step outside of his buir’s shadow and be more than just _Jango’s eldest_.

“It’s a small world,” she says.

He manages to raise an eyebrow at her in confusion because he has no idea what she means by _that_.

“You could have been a bit more discreet, you know. Immediately giving yourselves away to Dooku has set us back by _days_.”

Alright, he’s clearly missing something important here. And he hates that feeling. “We didn’t mean to get captured.”

“You know, I was expecting people less _close_ to Dooku. Your lot aren’t usually big on risk and sending the both of you was a _big_ risk.”

“I’m going to stop you there. I have no idea what you’re on about.” It sounds almost like this woman is a part of something _greater_. Which is ridiculous, because there isn’t anything _more_ than the wastes of the world outside.

Except the Separatists.

The look she shoots him is laced with contempt. “I never had you down as stupid.”

“I’m not,” he says defensively, and spots are beginning to dance across the edges of his vision. Talking shouldn’t be this exhausting. He wishes she would hurry up and get to the point. “Just confused.”

For a moment she doesn’t say anything, and when she speaks it’s with a slow, dawning comprehension. “You’re not with the Resistance?”

“Why would I be with any resistance? Any resistance is dead.” There’s no organisation left in the world, besides that which the Seppies have scraped together, just chaos and depravity in its place. People are far to scattered and downtrodden to dare do anything more than survive, let alone resist. He’s _seen_ it.

She looks at him and takes in his sincerity, then swears profusely and explicitly in the dialect of Concord Dawn. Cody has spent most of his life around soldiers and even he is impressed.

“You’re not the signal,” she summarises. “ _Ka’ra_ _gaa'tayl mhi_.”

“We’re not the signal,” he agrees.

Accusing anger crosses her eyes. “Everything is already in motion, you _have_ to be the signal. I’ve told _everyone_ you are. The Resistance said the signal would be something obvious and then one of the most decorated generals of his generation and the kriffing Marshal Commander for Mandalore show up. If you’re not the signal, then why are you here?”

“That is a very long story.”

She hisses in frustration and turns to stalk up and down the room. Cody counts to ten slowly before he interrupts her, because he’s clearly ruined all of her painstakingly laid plans – whatever they may be – and he’d rather she vent her frustration on something that isn’t him. Then he clears in throat because his shoulders are spasming under the weight of supporting his body and he’s not sure how much more he can take.

“Why would you be here if you’re _not_ the signal?”

He can’t help but feel like they’re wasting time and going in circles, but she’s clearly not going anywhere until they get to the bottom of this. “What’s the signal for?”

She looks at him sharply and opens her mouth to deny him, before reconsidering. “You’re not with the Separatists, are you?”

“Does it look like I am?” he asks, dryly.

She ignores him and switches to Mando’a. He can’t fault her paranoia. “Neutralising the base. There were plans in place for us to cause disruption from the inside so that those on the outside could break in more easily. They were to send us a signal so that we would know when to set everything in motion. But if you’re not the signal then nothing is in place outside and we’re all going to _die_.”

He can see why she’s stressed.

“I take it none of the plans can be reversed?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “Would I be this hysterical if they could?”

He tries to shrug, because he doesn’t actually know her, but it just wrenches his shoulders more. “If you get me down from here, and help get Obi- the General, then maybe we can help?” Depending on the state Obi-Wan is in.

She looks at him for a beat too long. “I wouldn’t say no to extra help,” she finally says. “Because we’re going to have to go through with this now one way or another. And your reputation at least implies you’re competent. My brother wouldn’t raise a fool-”

She cuts off abruptly and Cody’s mind does a little backstep as his processes what she’s just said. My _brother_. Because Arla might be a common Mandalorian name, but she just happens to be from Concord Dawn, like his father, and she’d said _Jango_ , in the familiar, the way one greets a member of their family, not their Mand’alor.

There’s always been the running joke that Fetts and their family are everywhere because there’s so goddamn many of them, but this is starting to become ridiculous. This town can’t claim to be large and Fetts are _still_ coming out of the cracks in the pavement.

“Ignore what I just said,” she says quickly as she sees the look on his face, and suddenly _she’s_ the one who seems pensive. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t,” he grits and he finds he’s angry. Because his father is still mourning her, says her name first in his long, long litany. And he needs to know _why_. “Why pretend to be dead?”

She drops the pretense. “That is between your father and I.”

He scoffs and that _hurts_ , dammit. But they’ve been speaking too long and there’s far too much standing between them to be resolved right now. Anything could be happening to Obi-Wan and anyone could walk in on them. They don’t have _time_ for this now (but _later_ ). “Get me down from here,” he says instead of the hundred other things he wants to.

Relief flashes across her face when she realises they aren’t doing this _now_.

“You do have a plan for that right?” he prompts, because she’s eyeing the manacles consideringly.

Their quality is a worrying sign of just how well equipped the Separatists are, and unless she’s just as well prepared, the locks aren’t going to give.

“Yes,” she replies evenly and produces a very small knife from her boot.

He can’t help but flinch because it’s disturbingly similar to Ventress’ and his mind whispers _this could all be a trap_. He pushes that thought away because even if it is, he has no choice but to play along. He doesn’t _think_ it is; it’s far too elaborate for all that and Ventress’ way of playing with her food it more _hands on_ , on her part. But doesn’t _know_.

“Sorry,” she winces and he just replies with a minute shake of his head.

 _Anyone_ waving a knife near him when he’s naked needs no explanation. Little gods, he misses his armour.

Arla crouches down by his feet and begins to pick the lock of one of the cuffs and Cody talks to distract himself. “How far gone are your plans?”

“I split with Gale and Cariso to come here, while they went to set off the explosives-”

“ _Explosives_?”

“They packed the crates they use to barricade the gate with gun powder. It was supposed to let the others in.”

Right. They’re all going to die, he forgot. He grits his teeth as there’s a click and the manacle around his ankle falls free. He moves it in small circles to get the blood flowing again as she starts on the next one.

“Just the three of you?” he asks.

“There’s a fourth. Che is… taking care of sensitive matters.”

He knows a cease and desist when he hears one, and he’s currently relying on her for his freedom. He changes the subject. “What is this resistance?”

There’s another click and both of his feet are free. Tentatively, he tries to balance on his tiptoes, hissing at the stabbing of needles under his skin. She raises an eyebrow as she stands tall to reach his wrists. “What do you think?”

“I heard there’s a Separatist problem around here. Would it be something to do with that?”

“It might.”

There’s silence for a second, and Cody breaths through the pain that radiates up through his body. The last few days haven’t been kind (more specifically, _Ventress_ hasn’t) and he isn’t as young as he used to be. He’s pushing _thirty_.

“Where is my brother?” she asks quietly, not looking away from her work.

“I don’t know.”

It’s not a lie exactly, he _doesn’t_ know where his buir is right now. And he feels oddly protective, not that he thinks his buir can’t handle himself. He doesn’t think that it’s wrong to distrust someone who’s pretended to be dead, especially if they’re family. There are some absolutes that should be sacred.

And honestly, fuck his life. How does this _keep_ happening to him?

She finishes her work in silence, allowing Cody to balance with one hand on her shoulder when she gets the first free. When she’s done, she helps him to the floor, so he can catch his breath and regain feeling in his extremities. His shoulders don’t stop screaming despite the reprieve, and they feel stiff and heavy to move.

He doesn’t know how long he was chained up, only that it’s been days and that he hasn’t eaten or had anything to drink since. There’s a hollow feeling in his belly, because guilt and worry may feel heavy, but they don’t take up much space. His arms and legs are weak, and there are fine tremors in his hands he can’t control. He’s a little embarrassed by it all, particularly as first impressions to his _aunt_ go.

She seems twitchy and eager to move on, so he counts to ten and pushes himself to his feet with a supressed grunt of discomfort. Everything _aches_ and it feels like some of the cuts on his back just reopened. But he wants to get to Obi-Wan, because whatever Cody’s feeling, Obi-Wan must be feeling a hundred times worse.

“Come on,” he mutters.

She nods at him and he lets her take point, because between the two of them, it’s her vision that isn’t swimming. She can also support her own weight without a disturbingly high fall risk. Cody staggers like a new-born colt behind her as he regains his footing, and then evens out some as they make it passed the door and into the dimly lit corridor beyond. Finally, he can see something that _isn’t_ that room. He knows how many _bricks_ there are in there.

“This way,” Arla says and leads off to the left.

He has no reason to dispute that, because it’s not like he could _pinpoint_ the screams. She leads him to a door at the end of the corridor, exactly like all of the rest, and twists the handle open.

Cody doesn’t have any extra human senses like some think the JEDI do, but he can smell the stench of fear within. He’s familiar with the gritty-bitter-nausea that rolls out of the room, and he steps passed Arla before he can change his mind. Because he’s sure he doesn’t want to see what’s inside.

He _really_ doesn’t.

Obi-Wan is suspended much like Cody was, spread eagle by the chains attached to the iron rings drilled into the floor and the pipes above his head. One of the pieces of pipe has been wrenched from its bracket and lies in pieces on the floor. Like Cody, Obi-Wan has been stripped to the waist. A bag or hood has been pulled over his face, and Cody finds he’s awfully _relieved_ it hides his reaction. Obi-Wan has given up the pretence of supporting his own weight, and has sagged limply forward, with his arms wrenched backwards. One of his shoulders looks deformed and Cody knows a dislocation when he sees it – the head of the bone is poking against the inside of pale, papery _skin_. It’s the arm attached to the remains of the broken pipe and it doesn’t take a genius to realise how he injured himself.

The only indication of who it really is, is the familiar scarring across his torso.

“Obi-Wan,” he whispers, trying to take an aborted step forward.

The hood flicks up weakly in interest, and he can see wiry muscles straining against the effort. He saw Obi-Wan before, back in the bunker, and it hadn’t been lost on him then just how much weight he’d lost since the last time they saw each other. That’s nothing in comparison to now; Obi-Wan has gone from skinny to _dangerously_ thin. Any reserves his body had, have been wasted by this past week, and Cody can _literally_ count his ribs. Deep purple and brown bruises hide some of the more cruel of Ventress’ attentions, and it seems she had as much fun with her knife here as she did with Cody.

He _cannot_ be too late.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers, and his mind supplies there’s something he’s missing because all of this is horrible, but it wouldn’t make him scream like _that_.

“The witch has really done a number on him,” Arla says and there’s something closed off about the way she hands Cody her knife with a small nod. He’s seen enough people retreat to protect themselves to know what she’s doing. “Let’s get out of here.”

Cody isn’t convinced that Obi-Wan is going anywhere on his own, but he agrees they need to get him down. _Now_. He takes tentative steps forward and is grateful when Arla stay back, because he gets the impression it’s only willpower that stops Obi-Wan from reacting more visibly to their presence. The hood is tied tightly around the back of Obi-Wan’s head and Cody narrates what he’s doing with a break in his voice as he tries to undo the lacing. His fingers are still stiff and uncooperative, and he ends up cutting the leather cords with Arla’s knife.

When he tries to pull the hood off, Obi-Wan lets out an involuntary hoarse scream and Cody stops immediately. It seems there’s a metal clamp beneath the hood, sewn into the leather, and it takes him a moment to figure out how the clasp works before he can release it. The hood comes away easier this time, and he drops it to the floor in disgust.

Obi-Wan’s eyes are bloodshot and yellowing, struggling to focus on Cody’s face as he shies away from the light of the room. His hair is matted with sweat and blood – _his_ blood – into a wild tangle of scarlet-auburn that _should_ be pretty but is simply _gruesome_. His beard is no better and Cody doesn’t think how they’d _both_ fixed it the other night. But it’s the ruins of his mouth that Cody fixates on, where the skin is cut and red with inflammation from the piece of metal shoved into his mouth. The one he’d been screaming around.

Cody is suddenly very certain he’s going to be sick.

“Cody?” Obi-Wan is almost inaudible, and it’s the movement of his lips that lets Cody know what he’s saying.

“Hey,” he says softly and finds himself tracing the worry lines on Obi-Wan’s face. Obi-Wan flinches at the contact, and Cody pulls away his hand like he’s been stung.

The sick feeling gives way to a seething _rage_. He wants to _hurt_ Ventress. _Badly_.

“It’s fine,” Obi-Wan mumbles.

“This is _not_ fine,” Cody says heatedly.

He knows what Obi-Wan’s like and he’s accepting _none_ of his self-depreciating acceptance today. Obi-Wan has always had this absurd idea that he deserves to suffer, and what Cody wouldn’t give to raise his old mentor from the dead and tell him exactly what he thinks about _that_ idea. He knows enough to be fairly sure General Jinn is to blame.

“We need to get you down,” Cody says rather unnecessarily, and starts on the manacle attached to his dislocated arm first. Obi-Wan’s head gives a little nod of agreement before sagging back to rest on his chest.

He’s not as good at picking locks as Arla, and after a moment she comes over to help, but it still takes more time than he’d like. He’s excruciatingly aware the longer they’re here, the more their risk of discovery increases. He _will_ fight if he needs to, but he doesn’t think he could take on the Lady _and_ Bly, if she’s accompanied by her bodyguard. Obi-Wan certainly doesn’t look like he’d be able to.

Arla gets his arms free and Obi-Wan pitches forwards. Cody catches him, ignoring the strain on his back. He’s steadier now, and cradles Obi-Wan against him almost protectively. His traitorous mind thinks _he’s missed this_.

“I was beginning to worry I wouldn’t get to do this again,” Obi-Wan murmurs, one hand reaching up to ghost over Cody’s scar reverently.

Something in Cody’s stomach flips uncomfortably. He knows Obi-Wan isn’t completely lucid, which means he’s forgotten his boundaries, and this doesn’t mean anything. It _can’t_ mean anything.

But the little voice in the back of his head nags that he should never have walked away all the same. That he should have taken the time the gods gave them, before they demanded one of them above. Because every time he looks at Obi-wan it’s like… not the first time Cody saw him because that had been intrigue and initial attraction and falling bombs, but later, when he realised he was where he was supposed to be. By Obi-Wan’s side.

But he _couldn’t_ have stayed after Obi-Wan came back from the dead because the trust between them was destroyed, and without trust they didn’t have _anything_. It doesn’t matter that Cody still _wants_ him, because he _can’t_ be with him. They’re not good for each other.

“We need to find a way to contact the Council,” Obi-Wan continues.

Both Cody and Arla pause, though he can’t imagine for the same reasons. “He’s not completely with it,” Cody defends, “he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Cody doesn’t ask why Obi-Wan’s words alarm her, because he’s not entirely sure he wants to know the answer. Or why Obi-Wan thinks he still defers to the Council. He wonders if it was something Ventress said.

“Why wouldn’t I know what I was saying?” he asks confused.

“The Council is dead, Obi-Wan.” Or disbanded, it doesn’t matter which.

“ _What_?”

Obi-Wan looks up at him frantically and Cody’s guilt amplifies at the distress on his face and the way his frown pulls at the wound around his neck. Cody has a sneaking suspicion there’s a reason Obi-Wan is being familiar with him and not the cautiously aloof personality he’s adopted since their reunion. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Obi-Wan’s brows scrunch up in a way that shouldn’t be so damn endearing. “Jabiim,” he says decidedly, and Cody does his best to contain the bubbling panic brewing in the back of his throat because what has Ventress _done_ to him? Jabiim was _years_ ago. “We were about to be overwhelmed-” he pauses and looks to Cody with slowly dawning horror. “Rex? Kix? The 501st and 212th?”

Cody swallows around the lump in his throat at just how earnest Obi-Wan is _. Family doesn’t walk away_ echoes around his head, _accusing_ him. “They’re… they’re fine Obi-Wan.” He doesn’t want to lie exactly – Rex and Kix are fine as far as he knows – but the second part of that… if Obi-Wan can’t remember anything before Jabiim, he certainly isn’t ready to learn how the War ended or that- or that they split up. He _definitely_ isn’t ready to learn about the Purge, because Cody hadn’t told him about that when he _could_ remember. “Let’s focus on getting out of here.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t just agree with him, because that would be too easy. “Of course, Cody. I trust you.”

Cody can’t look him in the eye and instead watches as his aunt opens the final cuff.

“All done,” she says quietly.

Cody hauls Obi-Wan away from the chains and pieces of pipe as gently as he can, holding him while he finds his feet, one arm around his too thin waist and Obi-Wan’s arm over his shoulder. He tries to convince himself that Obi-Wan _will_ be fine, that he’s survived too many things to die here, _now_. Cody refuses to allow it. He’s not going to Obi-Wan’s funeral a second time.

“What do we do now?” he asks Arla expectantly.

She shoots Obi-Wan a wary look as he attempts to stand by himself, somehow growing impossibly paler. He looks like he’s about to black out and leans back against Cody with his eyes screwed shut. Cody tries not to flinch when he presses against his ribs. “We need to get to the guard station before the gates go up,” she checks her watch. “We have less than a quarter of an hour.”

“And you can’t get to your people in time to stop them?”

“Even if I could, what would I do with the both of you? No, we’ve shown our cards and now we have to play them. We might just have to salvage what we can and use it as an opportunity to escape.”

Cody sighs, because there’s no way this is going to go well, but it’s not like they have a better option. He wishes Rex was here to have his back, or that Obi-Wan was his usual self and not a liability clinging to his arm.

Obi-Wan clears his throat, and winces when his voice breaks. “Would someone kindly tell me what’s going on?”

“We’re getting out of here,” Cody says patiently. “With the help of some… _friends_.”

“And we need to go now,” Arla adds.

Ah, yes. Because otherwise the risk of them dying increases a little more.

“Then, lead the way,” Obi-Wan says, despite his own handicap. Arla doesn’t look very impressed.

“I’ve got him,” Cody promises, his arm snaking more tightly around Obi-Wan’s back.

They’re skin to skin, and as they limp out of the door after Arla, Cody likes to pretend the burning is the aggravation of his bruises and not the contact, because it’s easier that way. Obi-Wan’s ragged breathing is marginally less concerning than the slick blood blossoming under Cody’s fingers, but they don’t have any medical supplies and they don’t have the time to stop. And Cody knows Obi-Wan will push through the pain until his body decides to collapse for its own good, which means he will never complain about being injured until it’s too late. And he hates to take advantage of that now, but it’s somehow the lesser of two evils. If they can somehow get out of here alive, he can throw Obi-Wan on Kix’s tender mercies and he _will_ be _fine_.

Because he’s lost him once and he has no intention of repeating that experience.

They make quite the pair, shuffling in Arla’s wake. If Rex were here, he’d laugh at the sorry sight they make. But Rex _isn’t_ here, and that’s only one of the many things that’s wrong. Cody doesn’t thinks about the fact that if they can’t pull this off, he won’t be there for Rex ever again.

They’re lucky they meet no-one, though Cody gets the distinct impression there simply isn’t anyone this far down. Outside of the rooms, it’s cold and he knows they’re underground because he can see his breath hanging in the air. It’s not the building they got their warm welcome in, but the other one on the opposite side of the road. It feels more abandoned, and more dangerous because of it. Not least because there was no-one to hear their screams.

“How did you know where we were?” he asks Arla. His throat feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton wool, which isn’t something he’d advocate for, but at least the cool air is soothing.

“I’ve been looking for someone,” is the cryptic answer he gets back, “and now I know my way around.”

“Did you find them?”

“No.”

He doesn’t know whether to apologise or not, because he can’t tell from her tone if they were a friend or an enemy. In the end he doesn’t say anything at all and they’re all saved from an awkward silence when they arrive at the stairs. Cody is dubious about Obi-Wan’s ability to make it to the top, but his jaw is set in determination and it’s clear he’s going to try regardless.

“I’ll take point,” Arla says, and he nods.

From her face it’s clear they’re not going to be in place before the gates get blown.

He misses _comms_ of all things, and the ability to talk across the width of the field. It’s like the dark ages, when commanders sent their troops into battle with little more than a vague idea of their positions and a hell of a lot of guess work when it came to what was going on. They should get a banner to rally under for all the good it would do.

Obi-Wan takes the stairs like it’s his final Trial, using Cody as a glorified clutch. Which he is oddly alright with. Something twinges in Cody’s back and Obi-Wan is struggling to bend one of his knees, which makes progress slow. But they don’t stop. Cody glances at Obi-Wan and sees the steely determination of _General Kenobi_ , and the look that promises a reckoning is coming.

Cody he realises he’s _staring_. Because he hasn’t seen that look since the War.

For the first time, Cody truly appreciates that it’s been Obi-Wan – a facet of his personality previously reserved for dark nights and when they were alone – who’s he’s seen these past days, and not the General, and he can’t see how he missed it before. General Kenobi was quiet, but he didn’t apologise for his presence. He was reserved, but not cowed. The Obi-Wan he found in the store is a shell of that; a shell that has determination and a strong sense of duty, but only a shadow of that he possessed before. There isn’t the same conviction behind his eyes or the burning need to do something because it’s _right_.

It’s almost like he’d been defeated, like he’s given up.

And Cody only notices now it’s no longer staring him in the face, which says far more about him than it does anyone else.

Arla grows increasingly more on edge, hovering impatiently a few steps above, reflexively checking her watch and Cody takes pity on her, pausing on one of the small landings. “Go on ahead.”

“Do you know where the guard’s room is?” she grits, uncertainty in her eyes. She doesn’t want to leave them behind, but there are other people relying on her and Cody knows that feeling.

The mission must always come first.

Cody shakes his head. It’s not like either of them have had the chance to look around.

She proceeds to give him very detailed instructions far too quickly for him to process, and he nods along because he doesn’t think she’ll go otherwise. He gets the idea it’s somewhere on the first floor, where they’ve punched a hole in the wall to connect it to the ramparts between the two buildings. “I’m sorry,” she adds, and Cody believes her.

“Aliit ori’shya tal’din.”

_Family is more than blood._

He doesn’t know why he says that, or if he intended it as a platitude or a warning, but it feels right. Something dark and borderline wistful flits across Arla’s face, then she turns and runs and it’s gone.

Absurdly, they make it to the first floor without meeting trouble, which must be a record for anything involving Obi-Wan (Cody would like it known that his solo missions are usually far less _interesting_ ). Then, just as they reach the last step, a pair of masked Seppies turn into the stair well. There’s a moment where none of them move, like that means they can’t see each other, and then one of them is shouting in alarm. Cody catches the word _Dead,_ destroyed as it is by the mask, and he can see _why_ the Clanker thinks that.

They’ve both certainly looked better.

Neither of them are armed, and both the Clankers have guns. Obi-Wan tries to step gallantly in front of him, which might be more effective if Cody weren’t the bigger of the two of them and attempting to do the same thing. Obi-Wan, of course, ignore the two rifles pointed their way and tries _talking_ to them.

“We’re a little lost,” he says, and Cody gets the urge to hide his head in his hands. “Perhaps you could point us in the right direction?”

Obi-Wan takes a small step away from Cody, and manages to keep his balance, (and his timing for that is _interesting_ ), holding his hands out placatingly to the Clankers. One of them looks a little lost, turning to the other questioningly and only gets a shrug in return.

“What are you doing here? This is for prisoners only.”

“We got lost,” Obi-Wan repeats.

“Wait a minute…” Cody can visibly see the man doing the maths, “you’re the Lady’s-”

He doesn’t finish.

Cody throws himself forward, using his weight to floor the first Clanker and forcing the second to take a step back to raise their rifle, putting them into the range of Obi-Wan’s fist. Which, apparently, hasn’t suffered in aim. Obi-Wan punches him squarely in the jaw with energy he’s pulled out of nowhere. The Clanker drops to the floor with an explosive curse muffled by their respirator. Cody and his Clanker both go down, and he flips onto his back to pull him into a more effective choke hold. There’s a frantic slapping motion on his thigh and it takes conscious effort to remind himself this isn’t training and the man can’t just _tap out_. An elbow finds tender ribs and he flinches but doesn’t let go, not even as his shoulder screams against the effort of containing the man’s panicked flailing.

Then there’s a weak gasp and the Clanker passes out.

He releases his hold and looks up to see Obi-Wan leaning over the other unconscious Clanker to take his rifle.

“You, alright?” Obi-Wan asks, like it’s _Cody_ they should be worrying about.

And _maybe_ he needs to get his breath back, but he’s _fine_. “Yeah, just give me a moment.”

Cody pulls himself to his feet. “I hope no-one heard that.”

“Seppies?” Obi-Wan scoffs. “It _would_ be our bad luck.”

He’s standing of his own volition, weapon balanced awkwardly in one arm, the other dangling freely, but he looking alert despite that. Cody might even venture to say he looks _better_ , but then his partner- then Obi-Wan has always been an adrenaline junkie who thrives best in a fight. He only _pretends_ he to be above such things.

Not for the first time, Cody can’t quite fathom why he left that all behind.

“I’m going to have to do something about my arm,” Obi-Wan says apologetically and for a moment, Cody can’t quite work out why.

Then he does and sighs. At least he’s well versed in setting dislocated shoulders.

“Hold still.”

Obi-Wan braces himself as Cody feels for the right places, his eyes closed and teeth clenched. Cody braces himself as well, though he doesn’t close his eyes, manipulating Obi-Wan’s arm into a right angle. He pushes it back and there’s some resistance, then a slight grind of bone against bone and an audible _pop_. Obi-Wan grunts and it comes out strangled. He opens his eyes, testing his arm with ginger movements.

Cody has spent enough time around Kix, on and off the battlefield, to know it’s an inadequate fix. “We really need to strap it.”

“And I really need to be able to use it.”

There’s a familiarity to this argument that makes Cody feel _nostalgic_.

“Besides, when we get out of here I’ll surrender to Helix back on the Negotiator or Kix back on the Resolute, whichever comes first. You have my word.”

Cody doesn’t even know where to begin with that and the sick feeling returns. He lets the matter drop instead of replying, turning to grab the other rifle where its skidded dangerously close to the edge of the stairs. “Come on, let’s go before someone else finds us.”

There’s an open hallway beyond the stair doors and it’s mercifully empty. Cody takes them through the first door on the right because he’s fairly sure Arla said to, and down the next long corridor. The wall to their right has a bank of windows that allow them to look onto the courtyard below. There’s no sign of any explosions or chaos, and besides the guards milling around on the ramparts or under the awnings, there’s nothing of consequence.

There’s a noise up ahead and Cody looks away sharply, throwing his arm out so they skid to a stop. The noise – the sound of _many_ voices – is coming their way and Cody barely pauses before dragging Obi-Wan by his (good) arm through the nearest door.

It turns out to be a very small supply cupboard and when the door swings shut the only lights are the thin sunbeams escaping through the grid at the bottom of the door, illuminating Obi-Wan’s face when he sinks to the floor. It might just be the lighting, but he looks pasty and there’s a sheen of sweat on his skin that isn’t from exertion.

“Get your breath back,” Cody tells him, putting his ear to the door to try and listen to the threat, so he doesn’t have to meet the love-faith-relief in Obi-Wan’s gaze that has _no_ _right_ to be there. “I’ve been to your funeral once already, don’t make me go to another.”

Well _that_ wasn’t supposed to slip out. There’s a delayed pause before Obi-Wan answers.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan asks quietly, “why do you keep looking at me like that?”

That sinking feeling is back. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a stranger, like you’re afraid I’m going to disappear.”

He sounds so small and in that moment any bearing of the General is gone. He’s just Obi-Wan, the one that was Cody’s in the lull between campaigns, the one that would dare to show vulnerability in his presence because Obi-Wan _trusted_ him. It’s a stark reminder, that to this Obi-Wan, all of those _things_ haven’t happened. He doesn’t remember, so he doesn’t _understand_ Cody anymore.

But they _did_ happen, and there’s nothing that can reverse that, not while one of them can still remember. “Because you have a tendency to do that.”

“Have I died?” he asks confused. “Am I dying, is this all in my head?”

Cody snorts. If only it were that simply. “No, you just pretended you were dead.”

“Why would I do that?”

He could give the neutral answer, that it was to protect the Chancellor, but his heart is bitter and demands retribution. “I don’t know.”

Obi-Wan scrunches up his nose in deep thought. “There’s a lot I can’t remember, isn’t there?”

Because he might be oblivious in many things, but Obi-Wan is annoyingly perceptive whenever Cody doesn’t _want_ him to be. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

Cody laughs humourlessly, and barely catches himself when he hears the voices outside only feet away. “You _don’t_ want to know,” he whispers fiercely. Hell, _Cody_ doesn’t.

“I do.”

The thud of boots draw level outside and they really should be quiet, but the Clankers make far too much by themselves anyway.

“No.”

“Please.”

The footsteps begin to recede and Cody curses because he’s never been able to say no to Obi-Wan. “Jabiim got a lot of people killed. You pretended to be dead. We broke up. You left the JEDI. People died. A plague ended the War. More people died, my whole karking country- Zombies are a thing now. Currently, the Separatists hold Coruscant and we’re in some kind of recruitment camp.”

Well. It’s a brief but accurate summary of the last five years. The rest is just trivial emotions.

There’s a pause, and in the contrasting silence, Cody realises he may have been shouting. He thinks the conversation is over and then he hears Obi-Wan’s answer, so quiet he could be speaking to himself. The little of his face that Cody can see is so _earnest_ and _confused_.

“We broke up?”

“You pretended to be _dead_ ,” Cody repeats, accusing. _Spits_ it at him.

Blunt fingernails dig into his palm and he breathes out heavily. Why can’t he get over that? He thought he _was_. He should have been over it when they broke up. And before last week he’d been so focused on surviving and keeping his family alive, and trying to forget why they’re not home in Mandalore, that he barely even had time to pine anymore.

Mostly.

“I’ve been making you uncomfortable this whole time,” Obi-Wan says sadly.

Cody can’t _deny_ that.

It’s probably fortunate that the explosion chooses that moment to go off. The entire building shakes, and Cody reflexively leans over Obi-Wan to shelter him from the falling dust. For a moment all Cody can hear is the roaring in his ears, then the aftershocks rock the building and there’s a cascade of falling brick and the ring of shattering glass. Somewhere someone is screaming – possibly several someones – and there’s a frantic shout he doesn’t understand.

He gets the impression Arla was playing it safe with the quantity of explosives.

Beneath him Obi-Wan uncurls and pushes Cody out of the way to get to his feet. There’s something grim and closed off about his entire demeanour, like he’s retreated back behind those shields he’s so proud of (and Cody had been so proud of slipping passed). Cody figures that if – five and a bit years ago, anyway – someone told him he’d broken up with Obi-Wan out of the blue, and not only that, but that everything he’d been fighting for his entire life was lost and everything he’d been fighting against had come to pass, his reaction wouldn’t be so reserved.

To be honest, he’s impressed Obi-Wan believes anything he’s said at all. But then, like he said, he trusts Cody.

And Cody doesn’t know what to do with that, so instead he focuses on what they need to do. “We really need to get going.”

He hopes Arla is where she needs to be.

The Clankers have gone from the corridor, and in their place is a sea of shards and debris that make him grateful Ventress left his boots alone. Obi-Wan staggers the first few steps before disused muscles can be coaxed into supporting his weight, and Cody has to withdraw his offer of help at the look Obi-Wan sends him. It’s probably for the best, because he’s not so steady himself, but he’s fairly sure he can still shoot straight, and he thinks that’s about to come in handy.

The door Arla mentioned is just ahead, and the galaxy decides it hasn’t sent enough shit their way yet, because there’s a shout behind them. It’s not directed at them, exactly, more a general vent of displeasure from one of the Clankers that passed them by when they were in the cupboard. They’re coming back this way, _all_ of them, and Cody barely has time to curse the gods before he’s shoving Obi-Wan forwards.

“Run!”

Adrenaline is, as ever, very helpful.

Cody’s never understood it personally, and if asked to explain it, he’d say Obi-Wan could tap into some limitless reserve of energy on command. Obi-Wan says it’s a technique taught to JEDI, to ignore _distractions_ , like there isn’t a threshold where pain can’t be ignored anymore. Whatever it is, it allows Obi-Wan to somehow find the energy to run, making for the door as Cody follows as best as he can, suddenly the one behind. The Clankers realise they’re there then, and the shouting _is_ directed at them.

Shots are fired in their direction, and there’s the sound of more glass breaking and the dull thunks of bullets slamming home into brick. Obi-Wan skids around the corner, shouldering open the door – and that _cannot_ be good for it – holding it open for Cody to duck in after him. Obi-Wan slams the door shut, and Cody finds himself gasping around aching ribs as he looks for something to brace it.

And then realises they’re in the guardroom.

The outer wall has been ripped away by the force of the blast, and smoke hangs thick in the air, darkening the room and causing his eyes to water to the point he almost can’t see the dozen Clankers turning their way.

“Incoming!” he shouts, and throws himself behind a large chunk of concrete that’s decimated half of the room on its way in.

Muscles in his side twinge in outrage at such careless movement, and he grunts as he shuffles himself into a better position to lean over the cover and get the Clankers in his sights and shoot. Obi-Wan drops to his side a second later, rifle pointed steadfastly at the door as it’s thrown open and then Cody’s twisting back to help him as the Clankers try to get in.

Two Clankers run through and Cody doesn’t think, just aims for the head of the first. Obi-Wan gets the second, and for someone who was struggling to see not that long ago, it’s a clean shot. Behind them, the Clankers already in the room fire at their cover and there’s confused shouting all around as someone sheltering in the corridor calls for a ceasefire, but the Clankers in the room either don’t hear, or don’t believe it’s genuine and when a third Clanker rushes through the door they fall to friendly fire.

“Arla’s not here,” Obi-Wan says urgently.

Cody hadn’t failed to notice, but he’s slightly preoccupied. “Maybe she got waylaid.”

The reply is lost when Obi-Wan ducks out of the way of someone leaning around the door to shoot. Chips of stone hit the back of Cody’s neck from the bullet’s impact, and he flinches to the side, shooting for the Clanker’s hand when they lean back around. They’re completely exposed to their front, and it’s going to get them killed.

“Cover me,” Obi-Wan shifts to a crouch and pokes his head up over the concrete to aim at the threat behind.

There’s another face leaning around the door and Cody takes them down, protecting Obi-Wan’s back.

“How many?” he asks.

Obi-Wan drops back to his side. “I count ten, but there may be more.”

“Same here.”

This would usually be where one of his troops would start flinging explosives or one of the JEDI pulls some Serious JEDI Shit-

Obi-Wan flings his entire body over the concrete and Cody ages ten years in the span of three seconds as he _flips_ and lands behind one of the Clankers trying to creep along their side to outflank them. Obi-Wan kicks the man in the chest on his way down, and he crumples in a heap Obi-Wan doesn’t even pause to acknowledge. As ever, Cody is only a step behind because someone has to keep up with the JEDI and he’s spent too many years setting a good example to his men to break the habit now. He doesn’t flip – because even when he’s not spent a week as witch’s punch bag, he’s not that flexible or stupid – but vaults over the cover instead, in time to shoot the Clanker aiming for Obi-Wan’s head.

There’s a noise behind him and he drops instinctively, driving his elbow into the chest of the Clanker trying to drop him. He twists to punch them in the face and then does his best not to blackout when he feels something in his back _give_ and he knows he’s torn flesh. The Clanker staggers back and then decides to dive for Cody legs while he’s trying to blink away the spots marring his vision and they both land on the floor.

Cody fights for the upper hand, managing to grab the woman’s head and jerk it away. There’s a snap and he pushes the body away so he can get to his feet, just in time to see Obi-Wan _deck_ a Clanker with the butt of his rifle.

The déjà vu is astounding; not only the dynamic they’ve slipped into, with Cody at Obi-Wan’s back, but the _way_ Obi-Wan fights. All fluid energy wielded with deadly precision. There’s no hesitation when he pulls the trigger, not the way there had been in his eyes when he’d appeared at their bunker covered in blood or in the sewer tunnels with the Risen. The bastard enjoys fighting, even if he doesn’t enjoy killing, and he thrives when others are depending on him.

Cody’s missed this Obi-Wan. The one that doesn’t apologize for his own existence. The one that hasn’t yet learned to be ashamed of himself.

It’s a completely inappropriate time to realises that he still _loves_ Obi-Wan.

Not just this Obi-Wan, but any one he can get. With and without his memory. And he’s so fucking _fucked_.

Because he _can’t_ forgive Obi-Wan for what he did. Because that hurt Cody so fundamentally that is has wrecked the trust between them to _this day_. And he _wants_ Obi-Wan to feel remorse over it, but he also wants Obi-Wan to hold himself with the confidence he used to, and from what he’s seen he doesn’t think he can have both.

The wind changes, blowing ash and soot in through the gaping hole in the wall. Cody promptly gets a mouthful of dry grit, and tries to breathe through his nose. The Clankers, for once, have the advantage with their masks and Cody finds himself dropping to the floor to make himself small, crawling away from his last know position. He inhales and chokes, and then a hand grabs him by the arm. He’s a second away from breaking it when a familiar voice whispers urgently.

“Cody, it’s me.”

Cody’s arm goes slack. “Sorry.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t release his hold, but instead turns pulling Cody with him, leading him away. A Clanker fires at a shadow, and it triggers a chain reaction. There’s incoming fire from all directions, not aimed at them – not aimed at anything, becuase the Clankers are _idiots_ – and they crawl frantically out of the firefight in the confusion. Debris is everywhere this close to the blast, and when they pause by where the original hole in the wall meets the ramparts, something in his side screams in protest and he realises the splintered remains of a table are doing nothing for the integrity of his bones.

Cody rolls gracelessly out of the room dropping a foot onto the rampart below, away from the Clankers and smog and shouting. The raised platform has partially collapsed near the middle and beyond, where the gates used to be, is a large gap in the wall. Twisted metal and charred wood lie everywhere, fanned out in a halo from the epicentre. The unmistakable forms of bodies litter the ground, where they’ve been thrown in the blast or fallen after – it’s easy to tell the difference because of the burns.

Obi-Wan is right behind him.

The ramparts are deserted, but there’s another firefight going on below and it takes a moment for Cody to realise who it is exactly. The Clankers have fanned out opposite the gate in a formation that is at the very least recognisable, trying to hold back the people who have managed to push passed the fence and into the mouth of the compound.

Arla is shouting orders across the yard from behind a large piece of wall – and Cody is glad to see she’s alright – but it’s not Arla’s Resistance with her. It’s _Cody’s_ _family_. Rex is crouched across from her, he can see his buir with Kix behind the safety of a doorway in the far building, and Fives and Echo are working with a pair he doesn’t recognise in front of the remains of the gate, taking turns to cover each other. Sabé is there too, trying to climb the far side of the rampart, presumably to gain the advantage of height, one of their spare rifles slung across her back.

He didn’t know she could shoot.

And he sees Aayla as she fights the Lady, pinned by the exchange of fire between his brothers and the Clankers, creating a ring for them to dance. She has her long knives out, and parries Ventress’ twin curved swords with an impressive show of speed and agility. There’s a lethal bite to the way they move that tells Cody they’re engaging to kill.

Next to him Obi-Wan curses in a way Cody won’t repeat.

Cody realises what he’s going to do a fraction of a second _after_ Obi-Wan leaps off the ramparts, and he swears he’s never done anything to deserve this. But this is General Kenobi; as far as he’s concerned he never left the War behind and there’s a JEDI in trouble and a SITH threat he has a duty to stop. It’s just another day. Cody isn’t even sure he _could_ stop him.

So he drops to one knee, and starts to pick off the Clankers from afar, protecting Obi-Wan’s six. He’s practiced at keeping one eye on the field and another on Obi-Wan, and it shouldn’t be this easy to slip back into that mentality but it _is_. It means he sees as Aayla hesitates – even only for a moment – when Bly flies out of the nearest door, because Obi-Wan is running, uncaring of the crossfire, to her side. Ventress uses the drop in her guard to slip a blade passed her defences, her strike catching Aayla’s unprotected midriff. Aayla lashes out as she crumples, catching Ventress’ arm with one of her knives, forcing her to choose between keeping her arm or her sword.

The Lady chooses her arm.

The sword flies through the air and lands metres from Obi-Wan who rolls for it, beating Ventress to the honour. He stands and they end up circling around Aayla’s unmoving form. Cody can’t see the severity of the injury from here, but he can see the way Bly is frozen on the edge of the fight and he thinks that’s telling enough.

He hasn’t seen Bly since Mandalore, since they overran Sundari, and he can’t say time has been kind to his cousin. Cody doesn’t really know what to think of him now; he knows it’s Bly beneath that mask, but he can’t fathom _why_ and it makes Cody wary of his reaction to seeing Aayla. Because she’s family too, and that means he also has a duty to protect her.

He watches as Obi-Wan swings the sword lazily through the air, testing the weight and taunting his opponent at the same time. Cody wouldn’t believe this was the same person that looked so close to death’s door only minutes ago, if he hadn’t seen this kind of JEDI _Osik_ before. He’s rarely so thankful for it.

“Hello, my dear,” the idiot says, and why does he have to be so infuriating? “I’m afraid our last conversation was interrupted. Where were we?”

Ventress snarls, not bothering to grace him with an answer before she leaps forward in a devastating attack. Cody can barely watch, but neither can he tear his eyes away as the two fight like they’re old enemies – with a familiar liquid elegance and predictable avoidance. He’s forgotten exactly what it’s like to watch Obi-Wan fight with a sword. This is far from the first time he’s witnessed the insanity of medieval weapons used alongside firearms, but just quite how jarring that image is – and how _spectacular_ – can’t be retained faithfully in memory.

“Cody!”

Only Rex’s voice could draw a reaction from him, and he looks to see his brother gesturing pointedly at a crater to the side of the courtyard. Just beyond, a group of six Clankers are trying to sneak along the wall of the building to come up on them from behind. Cody realises what Rex intends to do.

“I’ll cover you,” he yells, and switches his sights to target the front woman.

The second the Clankers realise they’ve been spotted they drop to the floor, splitting their fire between Cody, and Rex and Arla. He sinks to his stomach to make himself a smaller target and wishes venomously for his armour, picking off the Clankers one by one as Rex and Arla surge forward to take shelter in the crater. His brother takes the last one as his own, from close range with one of his handguns and a daring punch to the gut.

It puts them closer to Aayla, but it’s a risky manoeuvre that relies entirely on Bly’s next move. Obi-Wan has led Ventress away from where Aayla is curled, pushing the witch towards the gate and away from her own forces. It means Bly is the only one that won’t get shot by the Clankers for trying to reach her.

Probably.

Above the crack of gunfire, he can hear as Rex yells at Bly to grab her and the sound of a familiar voice finally seems to drag him back to reality. His cousin surges forwards and drops to his wife’s side, fingers finding her pulse point. His own side don’t shoot and nor do his family, and neither truly know where his loyalties lie. He cradles her in his arms, then finally stands and staggers over to the crater, dropping down between Rex and Arla.

Bly rips his mask off, and Cody gets a frontal view of his crumpled horror, as he crades his wife’s head in his lap. Arla puts pressure on the bleeding wound and Rex shouts for Kix with a voice that would send a rancor running. Kix is on the other side of the compound, and Cody makes eye contact with his buir. His buir turns and says something to Kix, before turning back to Cody with a nod. When Kix makes his run, he has Cody and his buir covering his path, and in his peripheral vision, Cody can see Sabé doing the same. She’s an impressive shot.

Kix drops into the crater with his bag, immediately adopting Rex, Arla and Bly as his assistants. 

There aren’t that many Clankers left, and Cody watches as more slink back into the building, beating a strategic retreat. It occurs to him they haven’t heard anything more from the guardroom, and he risks a look to the side through the hole. There’s only silence and smoke. He can feel the fight losing its heat, and he knows that it’s nearly over. The only fight still going with any intent, is Obi-Wan’s and Ventress’ duel.

Cody can’t get a shot on her, because they’re moving far too fast for him to be confident, he won’t shoot Obi-Wan by accident.

They seem to be fairly evenly matched in skill and her ferocity clashes with his determination, both refusing to give any ground. It makes it a battle of endurance, and Cody can see it going either way as he watches Obi-Wan catch her blade on his, and block her attack. Obi-Wan, despite how well he’s pretending he isn’t, is injured and his body will eventually start flagging. He can see Obi-Wan’s back weeping from _here_ , and the gods know what else he’s exacerbating by _ignoring_ his pain. Cody knows how he fights, and he knows Obi-Wan’s guard and stamina would be good enough, in any other circumstance, to withstand far longer than this little foray. But Ventress has done a number on him, and he’s fighting with an unfamiliar weapon.

Anyone else would already be dead, and it’s a testament to his skill that he’s still alive _to_ fight.

Ventress seems to grow increasingly frustrated. Having only one of her swords throws her off balance, and she’s dedicating more and more of her effort into trying to overpower Obi-Wan’s unflagging guard. It only worsens the stalemate between them because she fails her defence, and in turn Obi-Wan fails his attack.

The only warning they have is a sudden roar of fury. It seems to build out of nowhere, then the double doors to the building where his buir is sheltering explode outwards, and Cody watches as he throws himself out of the way of the tide of people that spill out. They’re bottle necked by the doors, which slows them a little. They seem to be fighting _each other_ , and the only reason Cody can fathom is their split loyalties. The remaining Clankers take one look at their prisoners and collectively decide to flee the other way.

Cody can’t quite work out what’s going on, but he’s glad he’s not in the courtyard below because it suddenly seems to have become a brawling ground. A couple of the prisoners seem to have acquired firearms, but most are using their fists or whatever they have to hand – one, notably, has a large pan he wields with far too much vindictive fury – and making do.

Ventress takes one look at the mob coming her way and lunges back from her opponent, creating distance for her to turn and run. Obi-Wan is in no position to pursue her and she knows it – _he_ know it – and he takes the victory while he still can, letting her go as she turns tail and _runs_. His eyes immediately drift to find Cody’s and Cody watches as he shoulders sag in exhaustion and the weariness not so much as creeps, but slams back home with the threat gone. He suddenly looks much older and exactly like he’s spent the past week under the ministrations of the SITH. Cody wouldn’t be surprised if a strong breeze blew him over.

His body does one better.

Obi-Wan’s eyes roll skyward, into the back of his head and he drops as his body goes boneless, finally giving up the pretence. He hears himself shouting Obi-Wan’s name and he feels his fear broil. The panic is back, because Obi-Wan _cannot_ die, not now. Not when they were _so_ _close_. He jumps off the ramparts, ignoring the way the impact jars his ribs and his legs, and sprints to where Obi-Wan has fallen. He’s distantly aware of the mob fighting around him, expanding to fill the courtyard, but he discounts their relevance as he drops to his knees.

Obi-Wan is pale at the best of times, but Cody’s never seen him like this. He’s virtually grey and Cody has seen enough corpses in his time to panic-search for a pulse. He can’t find one at first and that does _nothing_ to calm him. He manages to find a flutteringly irregular one in Obi-Wan’s neck, and it’s not a _good_ sign, but it’s there, and it’s a little relief.

A woman he doesn’t know drops down next to him, and Cody just wants Kix here, but his brother is with Aayla and she’s bleeding out. Obi-Wan is just… _dying_. Briskly, but not unkindly, the woman replaces his hand with hers, feeling the pulse for herself. Her face sets into something hard at the sight of freshly torn wounds on his side and torso, and the emancipated way his skin clings to bone. But none of that seeps into her words.

“I’m Dr Che,” she reassures him, and the name rings a bell. She’s with the Resistance.

Cody realises he’s shaking, and to his embarrassment Dr Che does as well. She takes pity on him and asks him to hold Obi-Wan’s head steady on his lap for something to do, while she pulls up his eyelids to look at his pupils. She asks him questions about the past week and Cody does his best to answer.

“It’s not unheard of for the mind to shut down in response to traumatic memories. Perhaps Jabiim was the least traumatic thing he could find to cling to.” She tells him when he mentions Obi-Wan’s memory loss.

Because after Jabiim had come Hardeen and the breakup, and then Obi-Wan had left the JEDI. Cody has never been under the illusion that was easy on him.

Neither does he have the humour to laugh. “There was plenty of trauma on Jabiim, Ma’am.”

“I suppose there was.” And it sounds like she _knows_. “I have a ward set up here. If we can get him to that, I can treat him far better than I can down here. I don’t think the Separatists will be back.”

Cody nods. He thinks he can manage that.

He’s just hooking his arms under Obi-Wan’s when both he and Dr Che stop. Arla is helping to carry Aayla in their direction, shouting for Dr Che as she does. At the same time his buir, flanked by Echo and Fives, is edging around the mob to get to them. He _knew_ this was going to happen, but he’s not had the chance to do anything to soften the blow of what comes next.

Arla draws up short, coming to a sudden stop. Rex curses as he walks straight into her and fumbles his hold on Aayla, saving himself by gently lowering her to the ground under Bly’s glare. Kix curses them all. Arla is still, radiating uncertainty and it’s that which draws his buir’s attention from Aayla to her face, mirroring her stance of confused-tension. Cody’s gaze switches from one to the other, and he can see the resemblance now he knows it’s there. The same frown and face shape, the same stubborn chin he knows he’s inherited.

“ _Arla_?”

“Brother.”

In the silence that follows Cody can see the disbelief morphing into something angry and formidable on his father’s face. “No, my sister is dead.”

Even to Cody’s ears it sounds like a denial.

“Perhaps that would have been kinder.”

And what does _that_ mean?

His father breathes heavily and controlled, the anger masking any thoughts he might be having more effectively than a blank look ever could. Cody is well acquainted with that look; it’s the one his father would slip on in his court or on the battlefield, the one that would make people underestimate or misinterpret him. The one that bought him _time_.

“ _Why_?” his buir asks and wouldn’t they all love to know. But she doesn’t have an answer, her mouth thinning colourlessly. “I’d have liked to know you were alive,” and he sounds _upset_. “I _needed_ to know.”

“You were running around being the kriffing Manda’lor. You didn’t need me.”

Dr Che’s head whips from Arla to his buir fast enough to give her whiplash.

“Of course, I did. _Aliit cuyir sol'yc_.”

_Family is sacred._

Nobody moves.

It’s Arla that is the first to break the stare, casting her eyes down to Obi-Wan’s prone form instead. A deferral and as close to an acknowledgement of guilt as a Mandalorian will ever get.

And that makes his _buir_ crack.

Jango takes a purposeful step forward, and Cody genuinely thinks he’s going to punch her, but then he pulls her into a Keldabe Kiss instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ka’ra, gaa'tayl mhi – stars help us
> 
> Aliit cuyir sol'yc – family is sacred. Literally; family first
> 
> Well this was another monster to write and I can only apologise for how late it is, I'm very sorry! Somehow the chapters keep getting longer?? I only finished writing yesterday, and so the whole of today was editing, which is why I'm behind schedule. Because this one is so long, I can confirm that the next chapter will be the last for this instalment.
> 
> Thank you for all of your lovely comments, kudos and continued support :)  
> The next chapter should be up either next Tuesday or Wednesday.  
> Stay safe X


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two idiots finally talk

Its dark and the only absolute he knows is the silence that saturates the air with hungry, grasping fingers. It stays that way for a while, trying to worm its way into his cold, cold heart. Then, inexplicably, it changes.

The nothingness morphs into something loud and keening, and Obi-Wan can’t tell if it’s a sound or a feeling, but he does know it’s coming for him, that it knows him more intimately than he could ever know himself. It _knows_ him, knows every little suppressed and tamed emotion with equal understanding, knows his darkest secrets and deepest desires. And for that, it will never leave him alone.

Because it knows his sins.

This shapeless, formless being with a raw power so great, no amount of learning will ever allow him to comprehend it, _searches_ for him. It brings with it a familiar deep well of bitter-regret-horror that does little but fill him with dread. And it _promises_ retribution, that it will not give up its pursuit of him until he has paid in full with his suffering.

Obi-Wan doesn’t believe in luck or destiny, but he can only describe that promise as fate serving him his due.

Because he is made for nothing if not infinite sadness.

***

He doesn’t awake slowly or suddenly, but with a firm sense of finality that tells him he hasn’t been condemned to drift in and out of consciousness indefinitely. The burn of smoke and soot clog his sinuses still, and it takes a moment for him to realise exactly why that is. Then he remembers Ventress and her attentions, and their duel, and what she did to Anakin and Ahsoka, and tried to do to Cody.

With a start, he tries to sit up.

Itchy blankets pool around his waist and one of his arms won’t co-operate because it’s bound in a tight sling across his chest. Something in his back gives and his vision whites out as hot pain flashes down his spine and through his body. There’s a strangled moan that _must_ come from him, but he doesn’t make a conscious decision to allow, then hands are guiding him back down and someone is scolding him like he’s a _child_.

“Really, Kenobi. I have enough to do without sewing you together again.”

It _can’t_ be.

“Healer Che?”

The haze clouding his vision dissipates and he’s greeted by a familiar frown of disapproval looming above. She may look a little worse for wear, a little paler and a little more drawn, but her aura of no-nonsense pragmatism is unmistakable. She even wears the same faded leather headband, and leather cords weaved into her two signature waist-length braids. And if her clothes are a little threadbare and just on the wrong side of too large, it means little nothing because she doesn’t let it – she holds herself as she’s always done regardless of her circumstance, with self-assurance and calm confidence.

Like a JEDI and a doctor, and it soothes him to no end.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, and it _is_.

He doesn’t know _why_ she’s here, but that doesn’t especially matter right now because he’s just relieved that she is. He can’t decide if it’s because something about her familiar presence makes him nostalgic or because she’s so adept at patching him up, that he knows he’s probably not going to die.

“Really,” she sighs, with far too much fondness, “anyone would think you were sentimental.”

She helps to rearrange the pillow behind his back to sit him up more comfortably without setting all of his nerve endings alite. He’s in a strange room of the mismatched furniture that seems to be characteristic of everything here, set up with a row of beds running along both walls to create a makeshift infirmary. Thick grey curtains have been draped over the bank of windows running along the opposite wall, creating a close atmosphere and blocking out the harshness of the outside light. Only two of the other beds are occupied, one on the opposite side of the room crowded by Fetts, and the other to his right. There’s someone slumped, asleep in the chair between them and he realises it’s-

“ _Cody_.”

He looks like he’s picked a fight with several especially dangerous womp rats and not lost to them by choice, and there are bandages peaking out of the sleeves of his shirt and one wrapped tightly around his wrist. He stirs at the sound of his name with the efficiency of a soldier who’s perfected the art of sleeping anywhere, during anything and his eyes widen when he realises that Obi-Wan is awake.

“Took you long enough,” he says, roughly and then clears his throat.

“Nothing changes,” Healer Che mutters, but Obi-Wan is practiced in ignoring her disdain. “What do you remember, Kenobi?”

“I remember that I couldn’t remember anything,” he says slowly, moving his good arm to probe at the wrappings around his stomach. “And I remember fighting Ventress.” He doesn’t remember anything after that so he assumes that’s when he passed out.

“The Fall of the Republic?” Cody asks.

He winces. “I remember that too.”

“I’m hoping that means the last of the drug is out of your system,” Healer Che says, swatting his hands away from the bandages. Then she sighs again. “If only I could run some _tests_.”

“One would think you’d already run enough tests on me to last a lifetime.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in my career, Kenobi, it’s that there’s always more tests to be run. Especially on you.”

He concedes the point.

She sighs when neither of them say anything more and rolls her eyes, pointing to Cody. “You, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, like try to stand. I’ll be back shortly.” She turns to walk out of the room and pauses at the door. “Oh, and Kenobi?”

“Yes?”

“It’s good to see you too.” The door closes behind her with a soft click.

“You know each other?” Cody asks surprised.

“We were colleagues, Before.” He wants to say they were friends, but the entire basis of their friendship had been built on the fact they denied having anything more than the patient-doctor relationship they were supposed to have _. Sometimes there’s only so many times you can die on someone, before it endears you to them,_ or so Healer Che had said, a little high on stims after a particularly long night just off the coast of Altyr IV, _but you can’t show it._

“She’s a JEDI?”

“She is.” Present tense intended. He doesn’t think Healer Che could stop being a JEDI anymore than she could give up breathing or allow a patient to indulge in something self-destructive. Aayla’s right; you might be able take a JEDI out of the War and the Academy, but that doesn’t always _stop_ them being a JEDI.

They lapse into an unsure silence, and he doesn’t know how to break it without stumbling into one of the many roadblocks between them. There’s a quiet background murmur from across the room where Jango is talking to Kix and Rex, with Bly sat wordlessly by the bed. It isn’t hard to guess who lies there. So he settles for a safe subject. “How’s Aayla?”

Cody grimaces. “Far from lucid, but the doctor says she’s out of danger.”

He nods. An injury like that in current times should be as good as a death sentence, which means she’s beaten the odds. Which may have been helped by having one of the best doctors modern medicine has to offer on her side.

“And everyone else?”

“Alive.”

He tries not to wince at how clinical and reserved this sounds, like they’re both treading carefully on sheets of glass, not wanting it to crack.

“How are _you_ , Cody?”

“I’m fine.”

Obi-Wan taught him that, to look so convinced at his own lie – he knows because Jango had been furious about it – so it’s only fair it comes back to bite him. “How are you really?”

“I’ve been worse.”

He’s not above playing dirty. “Please?”

Cody sighs and looks to his front, away from Obi-Wan. “Better for knowing where I stand with you. I’m glad you’ve got your memory back.”

This time he does wince. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Cody turns his head a little back towards him, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. There’s a crease of defeat in the lines of his face, and something sorrowful in his eyes. Obi-Wan can almost see the corner stone being laid, in this conversation and in their lives. The one that means there’s no going back, only away.

“We need to talk,” Cody says eventually.

He’s right. Of course, he is. They’ve both spent the better part of five years running from each other, avoiding what the other truly meant. It’s a disservice that’s gotten them nowhere at all, except perhaps to back to where they started. Obi-Wan is just as lost and just as alone as the first time he read Cody’s letter on the floor of their kitchen. There are moments where he forgets entirely they’re not together any more, and he’ll look over at Cody to smile or share the moment and then he’ll remember he _can’t_ anymore and the devastation hits like a punch to the gut all over again. He’s not sure he can keep doing that without _breaking_.

They both need closure. Cody _deserves_ closure, and it would be cruel of Obi-Wan to hold him to this stalemate that has crept up between them. To yield, is the very least he owes and if that means snapping the last tether of hope that something about their situation is salvageable, he was made for infinite sadness anyway. He can withstand one last heart break.

“ _Obi-Wan_!”

They’re wrenched out of the moment by Ahsoka leaping out of the bed next to Cody, and Obi-Wan realises he’s sat between them intentionally. _She was supposed to be his daughter too,_ of course he’d want to watch over her. Obi-Wan doesn’t know why he expected anything less.

She barely pauses to rub the sleep out of her eyes as she bounds from her bed to his, concern and delight visible in equal measure.

“You’re awake,” she grins and throws herself into a hug. Obi-Wan can’t quite muffle the grunt of pain that escapes, and she draws back bashfully. “Sorry!”

“I’m happy to see you too, little one.”

And _so relieved_. It shames him to admit, but there were times when he thought he would never see either of them again. In the darkest moments under Ventress’ care, he’d even _accepted_ it. With more caution, he gestures with his one good arm for her to come back, and she tucks herself against his side with her head resting tentatively on his good shoulder. Her clothes are clean too, and she’s not trembling like the last time. She has more scrapes and bruises than the last time he saw her, but she’s redone her braids and tied them back into her usual buns. 

The way she holds herself now convinces him she’s reclaimed not only her sense of self, but forged something new too. There’s something in the way she holds herself that makes her seem more sure about herself, and he thinks these last days have matured her in the way only experience can. The knowledge she’s growing up makes him both sad and proud, in a way he never would have expected it to.

“More than you could ever know.” Obi-Wan presses his lips to the top of her head. “Is Anakin here too?”

She hums and waves a lazy arm back to the bed she leapt from. Obi-Wan sees a lump under the blankets stirring and he realises his brother is there too. Anakin pushes himself free of the blankets with one arm and turns to look at them with the slow-rising sluggishness he never grew out of after his teenage years, his hair sticking in every direction except the one it’s supposed to. Obi-Wan swallows at the sight of his brother’s tightly bound arm and the stump it ends in, and forces himself to look up and meet his eyes.

Anakin, of course, notices him looking and smirks to try and hide his insecurity. “Jealous?”

“Anakin, the only thing I’m jealous of is your ability to be completely unfazed by the levels of your _own stupidity_. What were you _thinking_?”

“He wasn’t, clearly.”

Obi-Wan tears his eye from his brother – and the need to convince himself of the fact that he is indeed alive – to see Rex has approached the end of his bed.

“Hey!” Anakin mutters something derogatory in garbled Huttese and glares at Rex with a look of betrayal. “You were supposed to be on my side.”

“Oh, really?” Rex raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “And here I thought I was on my own side.”

Anakin manages to look put out by that. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“ _That_ sounds familiar.”

Obi-wan resists the urge to snort at the ease of the sniping they’ve fallen so quickly in to.

“I’m pretty sure he was thinking,” Ahsoka pipes up, looking between Rex and Anakin with comically wide eyes.

“Thank you Snips-”

“Just, it was more than his three remaining brain cells could manage, so they aborted the mission.”

“-is _not_ what I meant.”

Something safe and content floods his chest, and he bathes in the Light of the moment, thankful to the Force that they feel safe enough to let their guard down for just a moment. He looks over to Cody, to share it-

-and is abruptly reminded he shouldn’t do that. Cody’s face is stony, his mind clearly elsewhere, and it sours Obi-Wan’s mood faster than everything else. Because, _right_ , they’re supposed to be _talking_. But they can’t do that with an audience, not honestly.

“Why are the two of you here, now?” He asks instead, because they hadn’t been involved in the fight, which means they should be safe in the bunker and not back in the very place he’d worked so hard to get them away from.

That sours everyone else’s mood too.

“It got overrun,” Ahsoka says to his shoulder, as she curls back against him. “Turns out the Dead _can_ swim.”

He pulls her tighter to his side and files that new information to process later. He doesn’t want to think about what _could_ have happened to them, and is simply grateful that it _didn’t_. He focuses on the fact that they’re safe now, because their lives are one long sting of life-threatening events and if he doesn’t, he’d be a nervous wreck. (But he can’t shake the thought that he wasn’t there with them _again_.)

“Most of our stuff is still there,” Rex adds. “We haven’t had the time or the numbers to go back to try and get it. At least everything we need is here.”

From Cody’s lack of reaction, Obi-Wan guesses he knows all of this already.

Healer Che chooses that moment to re-enter the room, a tray in her hands. She’s flanked by Fives and Echo, good-natured acceptance visible on her face as Echo excitedly bounds around her.

“There’s a _kitchen_ ,” he says enthusiastically.

“I know,” Ahsoka mutters to his shoulder, and he frowns. That’s a question for later.

Healer Che sets the tray on the table by his bed and hands him one of the bowls of thick soup.

“I assume you can manage that yourself?” she asks, handing one to Cody and another to Ahsoka as she sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed, between him and Cody. Anakin’s she places on the table by his bed, and simply hands him the spoon instead. The look on his brother’s face reminds Obi-Wan that he’s lost his dominant hand.

“I’m sure I can,” he says distractedly.

“Cody will help you if not,” Fives offers.

Cody shoots him a look designed to maim. Obi-Wan busies himself with his soup.

Jango casts a look their way, turns to say something to Bly and wonders over, Kix and Boba behind him. He casts an appraising look over all them, one he makes no attempt to disguise, finally settling on Obi-Wan.

“You’re awake.” It’s an observation, not a question, and Obi-Wan treats it as such. “How are you?” It sounds like it should be directed at him, but Jango has turned to look at Cody.

“Buir,” Cody says the way he does in warning, toeing the line of respect.

Obi-Wan feels slightly out of sync as Jango continues right passed Cody’s plead.

“I’m glad to see you’re better. Perhaps you could do us the _privilege_ of answer a few questions?” His words are barbed and full of threat.

Cody bristles. “ _Buir_.”

Obi-Wan really doesn’t want to be the cause of tension between them. He puts his soup on the table, suddenly no-longer hungry. “It’s fine Cody,” he says quietly, and turns to Jango slowly. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know,” he says carefully, “why my _vod’ika_ , keeps talking about you and your daughter in her sleep. She keeps asking how you _got out_ , says it’s the key to _everything_. Something _your_ adi’ka knows nothing about. I think you owe us all an explanation.”

Jango isn’t _wrong_ exactly – Ahsoka and Cody certainly deserve to know, if not Anakin too – but it’s something he’s been putting off for _years_. He certainly doesn’t want to have to reveal it now, in front of Cody’s _entire_ _family_ , without knowing what he’s going to say. But all eyes are on him, and Ahsoka has gone stiff an wary next to him, and he knows it’s time.

“Right,” he says quietly. “Yes.”

And then can’t think of anything else _to_ say.

“Obi-Wan?” Ahsoka asks, just as quietly, barely a whisper. “Please?”

And, _oh_ , that’s a dirty trick.

He looks at his empty hands and the scarring on his palms. He’s lost track over the years of where he got most of them; half the time he doesn’t notice until long after he’s acquired them, and the other half – well, what difference do half a hundred battlefields really make?

“I made a deal,” he tells them. One of the scars he _does_ remember getting. The long one, that cuts through the lifeline ringing his thumb. “The Council wouldn’t let us adopt Ahsoka or let her leave, not after how I got Anakin out. When they first suggested making me Hardeen I…” he got it in that arena on Geonosis, as the bombs fell and Cody emerged from the dust. He just hadn’t noticed until much, much later… “I refused. Pretending to be dead?” He looks to Cody, and finds Cody staring unblinkingly back. “I knew exactly the effect that would have on those I loved.”

Cody flinches and Obi-Wan looks back at his hands.

“Then they told me if I _did_ do it, they would look the other way and allow me to adopt Ahsoka. How could I refuse _that_?” It was a piece of shrapnel the medic pulled from his palm. He’d given it to Cody as a joke, called it _lucky_. “They knew exactly what they were doing,” he adds, bitterly. “The bastards weren’t the _best_ of the JEDI for nothing.”

There’s a reason he’s never told anyone this. Cody had walked away before he could. Obi-Wan had made the deal and immediately gone on the mission, and when he’d come home they’d fought and then Cody had _gone_. He’d never told Ahsoka because he didn’t want her to feel guilty about something she couldn’t possibly control. Anakin would just have been angry, and he’s enough of that already.

So he’d kept it to himself.

And look how well that went.

“It was far more simple for me to leave. They didn’t have any power left to hold over my head, and they knew it. In forcing my hand I wasn’t their equal anymore, but their puppet and I cut my own strings. I walked away and they couldn’t stop me.” Not if they didn’t want to dearly regret it.

Not one of them says anything, and when he finally looks up he can see the looks on their faces, the way their gaze flits between Cody and himself. Of all of them, it’s Healer Che’s face that is the most closed. Shrewd acknowledgement shines in her eyes now, and she doesn’t deny the Council’s ability to act so coldly. He pities her a little, to be so unintentionally caught up in the middle of this all.

Cody’s face is stuck somewhere between, emotionless and dawning understanding, and in any other situation it might be comical. His lips are parted slightly, but he doesn’t say anything, his brother does that for him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Rex says emphatically. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“You didn’t give me the chance. One of the conditions of the mission was that everyone had to believe I was dead, and afterwards you wouldn’t let me explain.”

He hadn’t pushed because he had deserved their dispassionate ostracism, and because he hadn’t wanted to hurt Cody any more than he already had. He’d been forced between a rock and a hard place, and he’d let it crush him because there hadn’t been any other option.

Obi-Wan looks to Jango, back to the test of wills that’s crept up between them. He resents him a little for pushing the question, but he thinks if someone had done the same to Ahsoka, he would perhaps react similarly. “Is that _satisfactory_?”

Jango nods sharply, but doesn’t say anything. His face is pinched in displeasure and he seems to be deliberating what exactly to do next. Everyone seems to be waiting for Cody to say something, to take their ques from his reaction – hell, Obi-Wan is too – but Cody is doing nothing but looking at Obi-Wan as if re-evaluating his entire perception of him.

“You’re right, we need to talk,” Obi-Wan says after a beat, unable to stomach the creeping tension.

“We’ll give you space,” Jango says quietly, looking at his eldest for a sign that he doesn’t want that.

Cody doesn’t react. He seems to be a thousand miles away, eyes lost in the middle distance and Obi-Wan just hopes he hasn’t broken him. Jango is the first to move, breaking the hold the atmosphere has on them all, like they can breathe again. He guides Boba to the door with a hand on his shoulder, holding it open to wave everyone through. Healer Che leaves without complaint, hovering behind Anakin who clearly resents being forced from his bed. Ahsoka’s gaze is still accusing as it disappears around the corner and he knows there’s going to be another difficult conversation later. Even Bly leaves his vigil by Aayla’s bed, though with clear reluctance. Obi-Wan had almost forgotten he was there.

Then they’re alone.

Obi-Wan still has no idea where Cody stands, and so he elects to say nothing at all. He waits and then he waits some more, allowing Cody to order his thoughts. He finds he’s sweating a little, and under the bandages his torso itches, but he makes no to move to remedy the situation out of fear of disturbing the fragile peace the room now holds.

“You did it to get her out?” Cody asks finally, his voice subdued, his words careful.

Obi-Wan nods, a hand reflexively combing through his hair. The movement makes something in his back twinge, and he grimaces, letting his hand drop.

“Of course, you did,” Cody laughs humourlessly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

He doesn’t answer, because it’s one of the many things that keep him awake at night. It’s one of the insecurities that lingers; did he truly not give Cody a reason to trust he had a worthy motive? He’d accepted the mission with the knowledge it would upset those that he cared for and cared for him in turn, but he’d thought that he’d earned enough of their respect for them to hear him out upon his return.

Because the mission would always come first, that’s what they agreed. He was a high JEDI general, and Cody was a marshal commander, neither of them could afford to put their feelings for the other above their duty, because others would suffer and die for it. He’d loved Cody then and he loves him now, enough that he would never ask Cody to choose him over his people, because that would be asking him to so fundamentally set aside what makes Cody himself. He thought Cody would extend the same courtesy to him.

But he hadn’t, and that makes him question exactly what they’d had together, if their relationship had been as sincere as he’d thought. Clearly, he hadn’t given enough.

“I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan is confused; _Cody_ is apologising. “For what?”

“Not listening.” Cody shrugs, self-consciously and drops his gaze from Obi-Wan. “Walking away. You’re right, you know. Family doesn’t do that, and we were family.”

As if Obi-Wan needs the reminder.

“I tried _so hard_ to move on,” Cody continues.

And that shouldn’t hurt but it _does_. How could it not? The person that he’d loved _so much_ had done their upmost to forget him, and what’s more, his reason had been valid. Obi-Wan had lied to him, let Cody think him _dead_. It makes Obi-Wan feel small and unworthy, and his skin feel too tight. The last thing he wants to think about, is his replacements.

He realises he’s never thought about Cody dating anyone else after him – his mind couldn’t even comprehend the idea – but it’s been five years, of course he had. Cody isn’t like Obi-Wan, he’s far more objective and far less sentimental, and he certainly isn’t celibate. The thought of anyone being with Cody _like that_ makes him stomach clench in a way it has no right to, and his hands ball into the sheets as he makes the conscious effort to not grind his jaw. It occurs to him Cody might have been involved when all of this started, and that the last thing he wants to see is Obi-Wan in the place of his _real_ partner.

He thinks if there were anything in his stomach he would throw up. As it is, he swallows hard and tries to go through the exercises to dispel unwanted emotions.

Cody _deserved_ to move on. He _knows_ that. It just feels like a dagger to the heart that he _had_.

“But I never could, because they all paled in comparison to you.”

Obi-Wan looks up.

“It felt wrong, to be with someone else. It made me feel dirty, like I was the one desecrating what we had. I think Rex felt like he had to help me move on, he and Buir kept setting me up, but it never got further than a few times before I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Cody looks ashamed and that’s the last thing he wants. “You deserved better than me, you shouldn’t have felt guilty.”

Cody seems _concerned_ by that, like Obi-Wan is missing something crucial. But he doesn’t push. “You’re never found someone else?” he asks, timidly, like he’s afraid of the answer.

Obi-Wan fails to hide his surprise. Dating had been the last thing on his mind. Cody had been it for him, he’d already known that. He certainly didn’t want to start over with someone he knows he couldn’t give everything to. Especially not his heart, because that had, and always will, belong to the man in front of him. No matter what happens now. “I think that would have been a terrible idea.”

“It’s been five years…you haven’t even,” Cody shrugs awkwardly, flailing for words, “ _you_ _know_.”

Obi-Wan snorts which makes his ribs flare in protest. “One-night stands aren’t really my thing.”

He can understand the compulsion to let off steam, but he doesn’t understand how people can let their guard down in such an intimate setting with people they don’t know. Even the most casual relationships in his youth had been with people he knew and trusted. Anakin begs to differ, and one thing Obi-Wan learned when sharing a house with him, was just how much his younger brother didn’t share his view. The number of times he’d thought they’d had intruders, and it turned out to be Anakin’s flings making a hasty exit had been ridiculous.

“You haven’t had sex in five years?” Cody asks, aghast.

He colours and wonders when this serious conversation morphed into a discussion on his lack of sex life. “I’m sure Anakin would love to rant about my _repressed emotions_ and _healthy outlets_ with you.”

In all honesty, he’s stopped listening when Anakin starts to talk about it. His brother doesn’t understand the difference between repressing his emotions and being in control of them, and that Obi-Wan doesn’t need sex the same way Anakin seems to. That’s not to say he doesn’t like it, but rather he doesn’t have an interest in it if it’s not with Cody anymore (and he’s perfectly aware, thank you, that that makes him sound like an old man). And since that’s clearly not going to happen, he’s happy to go without.

 _Happy_ in the loose sense of the word.

“I’d… rather not,” Cody mumbles, blushing.

Obi-Wan admires the way is spreads down his neck, and tries not to remember exactly how far down it goes.

“Gods we’re terrible at this,” Cody says.

Isn’t that the problem, that they can’t _talk_?

“Yes, we are.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment, then Obi-Wan can’t take it anymore. He wants to get this over with, now that it’s inevitable. And it _is_ inevitable. “What happens now?”

“What do you want to happen?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. He absolutely cannot voice what he wants to happen, not without making things far worse for himself and even more uncomfortable for Cody. “I’ve got Anakin and Ahsoka back, so I’ll be out of your hair soon, don’t worry.”

“You’re leaving?” there’s a sadness in Cody’s voice.

“It’s for the best.” And it _is_.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Cody blurts. “I mean, you don’t have to.”

“ _Cody_ …”

“I don’t want you too.”

Obi-Wan stares fixedly at the scar on his palm, refusing to meet Cody’s earnest eyes. “Cody I can’t stay here. Eventually you’ll meet someone you want to be with _and_ can look in the, and it would destroy me to watch. You know I still have feelings for you, I’ve done an appalling job of hiding that and I’ve already made you uncomfortable. It would be kind to neither of us for me to stay.”

And that’s the kicker isn’t it? They’d be safer as a group, but it would be more _dangerous_ for the two of them to be together because trust and the ability to rely on each other is what keeps you alive in this hellscape. And they can’t give each other that.

“I still do too,” Cody says quietly. “Have feelings, I mean,” he clarifies.

Obi-Wan’s heart stops dead in his chest, and he finds himself remembering there’s a reason he needs to breathe.

“Stay, please.”

And _that’s not fair_.

“I can’t,” he whispers, and he’s not sure _why_ he can’t, but he knows that the both of them having feelings is not the only thing they need to repair the rift between them. Sometimes feelings aren’t enough, and Cody hasn’t said how he feels about this new revelation, has barely even acknowledged it or said why he wants Obi-Wan to stay.

Cody is asking him to stay, but nothing else and he can’t put _himself_ through that, not without something more solid. He doesn’t want to be destined to become part of the furniture.

Cody nods in resigned understanding, and keeps staring off into the middle-distance. Eventually he says, “I’ll go get Anakin and Ahsoka,” and leaves.

Obi-Wan can only believe they’ve been hovering by the door, because it takes seconds for them to come in after Cody goes. Bly slinks in behind them, nods at Obi-Wan and makes his way back over to Aayla. Ahsoka throws herself into a hug, slightly more careful of his ribs and arm, and when Anakin hesitates, Obi-Wan gestures for him to join. For a moment, they all bask in the presence of each other and the simple fact they’re alive. Then Anakin draws back to sit on the end of the bed and Ahsoka retakes her places against his side, pointedly handing him back his cold soup.

Anakin is somehow the most concerned of the three of them, and Obi-Wan wonders if some miracle has managed to make him a responsible adult in the last few weeks.

“Cody doesn’t look so good,” he says. “What did you do to him?”

Obi-Wan raises a very tired eyebrow. Anakin knows exactly what he did to Cody. “I made him go to my funeral.”

Anakin isn’t impressed. “What did you _say_?”

He sighs. How could Obi-Wan have forgotten his brother’s complete lack of privacy? And that’s coming from someone who grew up in the _Academy,_ where all showers, meals and gossip were communal.

“I said what needed to be said,” he replies firmly. He’d refused to do one of the things he wants most, because he’s self-aware and he already hates himself for it.

“That doesn’t matter,” Ahsoka says fiercely. “You pretended to be dead for _me_?”

“None of this is your fault.”

He needs her to know that. There was a corrupted system working against her, against all of them. How he chose to fight it doesn’t reflect on her, and it’s him alone – and the karking Council – that bare the blame. She had simply been a bystander caught in the crossfire.

“Of course it is.” She leans back and crosses her arms, trying to stare him down with a confidence she didn’t have a fortnight ago. “Cody hates you, because you chose to save _me_ over your relationship.”

He winces at the reminder. Is it possible to have feelings for someone you hate? He supposes so.

“No, Little One,” he corrects, “I chose to get you out. Full stop. What happened between me and Cody was the symptom of a larger problem and most certainly _not your fault_.”

Because, apparently, they never fucking _talked_. Not about how far they could put the mission first, or how much their love was truly worth, or if there was a line that could be crossed. When push came to shove, they hadn’t even been on the same kriffing _page_ about any of the things that came to matter. And it had proved fatal.

They might still have feelings for each other, but that doesn’t mean _anything_ but more pain if they are incapable of acting on those feelings in a way that won’t tear them apart again.

Ahsoka doesn’t look very convinced, and he brings up one of his hands – frowning at the weak tremors – to brush one of her long braids back behind her ear. Somewhere, she’s found threads of white and blue to weave into them and he thinks it suits her. Her other strand of silka beads is still there and it reminds him of the one he’s been clinging to.

“I’m proud of you,” he tells her. “Both of you,” he adds, turning to Anakin. “You stuck together and you stayed alive.”

Anakin laughs self-depreciatingly. “Yeah, we did a real good job.” He looks to Ahsoka and amends his statement. “Well she did. Wouldn’t be here without you Snips.”

And Anakin launches into an explanation of how they came to be back here. Which is how he finds out it was Ahsoka who told the Fetts about Arla’s plan – a plan she’d learned when eavesdropping – which had given the Fetts the opportunity they needed to breach the front gates and take the compound. After several more days spent staking out the perimeter, _waiting_.

“Which is how I met _Sabé_ ,” Anakin finishes and suddenly Obi-Wan knows it’s going to be a lot harder to convine them they need to leave soon.

They talk for a while longer, then lapse into a comfortable silence and eventually Obi-Wan drifts back to sleep. When he wakes they’ve gone and there’s no-one in the room besides Bly by Aayla’s bed. The chinks of light filtering in through gaps in the curtains are tinted orange and a soft yellow that makes the room seem mellow and less foreboding.

He’s fallen asleep sitting up at an awkward angle, putting pressure on his ribs and straining the muscles in his back. With difficulty he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stretches, trying not to groan when his back seizes. There’s a pop and the tension drifts out of his muscles slightly, but not enough to provide any real relief.

Mercifully, he’s wearing trousers – though not the bloodstained ones from before – baggy enough that they don’t constrict the bandages around his ankles or rub at the ones on his stomach. He stands, taking a moment for the room to settle, and limps over to Aayla’s bed. She’s awake, eyes focused with soft reverence on Bly’s sleeping form in the chair, and she doesn’t look up at him until Obi-Wan speaks.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” she replies, with a coherence he didn’t expect after Cody’s warning. There’s even a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You look like shit.”

He snorts and immediately wishes he hadn’t when his muscle spasm in reproach. It’s not even like it’s the first time he’s been tortured for a week, though it might be the worst. And that might also be saying something. She gestures to the bed, and he takes a seat gratefully, careful of her side. “You don’t look so good yourself, you know.”

“That would be the SITH,” she says.

“Wouldn’t it.”

Ventress has really done a number on them both. It’s almost pitiful how two JEDI – a fully ranked general _and_ a high general – have bowed to her power. Obi-Wan would love to say it’s because they’re rusty or injured, but the reality is that she’s every bit as formidable as she seems and he can tell she’s going to be a threat that comes back again and again to haunt him. Like Grievous.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“How am _I_ feeling? You’re the one that nearly got sliced in half.”

“But I didn’t spend a week under the mercy of a SITH.”

Obi-Wan will give her that one.

“I’ve been better.” It’s as close to an admission of _not being alright_ as he’ll ever get. “She… knew what she was doing.”

Aayla hums thoughtfully and it reminds Obi-Wan that he’s talking to one of the few people left alive that will _understand_ how he feels. He wants to tell her just how close to Falling he really was. Just how alluring the Darkness had really been, like a siren calling out to the sailors of old, offering him meaning in a world that’s just seems to keep coming at him without rhyme or reason. But he can’t do it, make himself vulnerable like that. He’s never been good at it, never been one to share his emotions. Not even with the mind healers after Qui-Gon’s death.

He wants to admit to someone just how close to the edge he’d really been, just how close to breaking. That he could feel the precipice, and the drop beyond that had been _so Dark_ , calling to him with whispered promises he’d withstood, clinging to his sense of self like a lighthouse in a storm. Only he could feel it seeping in, breaching his out defences, worming its way passed his outermost shields, a maelstrom of Darkness insisting to be heard.

He’d been stuck in his worst moments, forced to watch them play over and over, tormenting him with his failures. It had worn him down to a dangerous malleability he’s not felt in many years, since he was still a commander. She’d tried and failed to break him physically, but she’d had far more successes with his mentality. He was _so close_ to Falling.

He can’t tell that to anyone else, that he _so close_ to fundamentally failing everything he’s ever stood for, and everyone he’s ever loved. Cody would never look at him the same way again. He certainly wouldn’t have asked him to stay if he’d known that. He might not be a JEDI anymore, but he’s no SITH and to say he’d been tempted by the darkness is a terrible admission he’d only gift more power to by speaking in words.

Instead, he simply greets her with a smile.

“Bly was telling me things didn’t go so well with Cody,” she says, oblivious to his inner struggle.

“That’s nothing new.”

She looks at him with a pity he doesn’t want. “Cody seems more devastated by that than you, for once.”

“He asked me to stay. I said no.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t ask why, but she does look unhappy. “I thought…” she starts. “The way you look at him, is that not what you want? To be with him?”

“Staying by his side and being with him are not the same thing.”

One would destroy him and the other… the other he doesn’t let himself dwell on too hard because it will never happen. Not after their last conversation.

Aayla nods and looks over to where Bly is sleeping. She doesn’t say she knows the feeling, because he can’t imagine she does. The way they look at each other – the desperation in her eyes like she’s afraid he’s going to disappear again and she’s not sure she could take it – he doesn’t think they’ve ever given up on the other. Her husband left without a word and the only thing she had to cling to was her faith in him – and she _did_. She didn’t stop loving him, not even when she didn’t know why he left, because she trusted his motives, even if she wasn’t happy about them. And here he is now, by her side, as if he never left. Because they loved and believed in each other.

“Is that it then?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “I don’t know.”

There’s nowhere left for him to go but _away_.

“You know Cody was Bly’s best man?” Aayla asks, suddenly and he nods. “They were close growing up, went through basic training together, got their commissions at the same time. But you know all that,” she adds. He does, and wonders why she’s telling him. “They talked, while they thought I was asleep.” Obi-Wan gives her a look. “I didn’t want to disturb their moment,” she says defensively, “they were both talking like healthy adults and I didn’t want to interrupt. But Cody told Bly something, something that made me worried. Cody told him that, _the gods rarely give you a second chance, so don’t waste it, because you won’t get a third_.”

Obi-Wan just looks at her and she has the audacity to roll her eyes back at him.

“He wants you back, Obi-Wan, and you want him back. He’s right you know. You’re not going to get a better opportunity than this.”

He’s not convinced. “That’s an awful lot of assumptions.”

“Just…” she sighs. “ _Talk_ to him.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re having a few issues with that.”

“You’re the fucking _Negotiator_. Talking is what you _do_.”

He peels the dirt out from under a nail. “Not anymore.”

Not for the past five years.

She growls in frustration. “Obi-Wan, you will go and talk to Cody if you have to defeat Vokara Che herself to get to him, because I _cannot_ take either of you pining anymore. And I’m pretty sure everyone would lock you in a room together if the past week has already proved that doesn’t work.”

“I’m not pining,” he says stubbornly, “and neither is Cody.”

“Oh, for the love of-” she throws her hands in the air, “I give up. You _deserve_ each other.”

There are so many things she could mean by that he doesn’t even bother to ask. “Alright, what do I _talk_ to him about?”

“Your _feelings_.”

“Cody doesn’t want to know about those. They make him uncomfortable.”

She stares at him. “Are you joking? I literally _cannot_ _tell_.” He blinks at her and her eyes widen. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“Why would I joke about that?”

“A misplaced coping mechanism?” Bly asks.

Both of their heads turn to see he’s pushing himself into a better position, eyeing both of them apprehensively. Obi-Wan thinks it’s the first time he’s actually heard Bly speak, and for a moment he sounded so similar to Cody that he thinks Cody has somehow managed to sneak up on him. They certainly look similar enough – perhaps even more like siblings than Cody and Rex, because they have the same styled black hair – though Bly does have gold tattoos on his cheeks, that remind him of war paint a little too much.

“Seriously,” Bly continues, “Aayla’s right. _Talk_ to him.”

“Of course, I am,” she says fondly, eyes only for her husband and Obi-Wan knows a dismissal when he sees one. There’s nothing malicious about it, she simply wants time along with him while she can get it, and he certainly isn’t about to get in their way.

“Alright,” he grumbles. “I’ll go and find him.”

He certainly can’t stay here.

There’s a crate under his bed, with his boots in, Cody’s grey shirt and his leather jacket someone has retrieved. He pulls on the boots, followed carefully by the shirt, with only his one good arm through the sleeve – he gets the feeling that if he touches the sling or the bandages Healer Che really will come for him – and drapes the jacket over his shoulders, checking the pocket for the silka beads. He runs a cautionary hand over his beard and frowns at the mess he finds, but there’s not much he can do about it now.

His backpack and rifle are also stashed under his bed – and it really is a sign of the times that Healer Che has allowed _weapons_ onto her ward – but he leaves them on the basis, he’s probably more likely to pass out than anything else in the event they’re attacked.

Healer Che doesn’t dramatically appear when he opens the door and the corridor beyond is empty. He can only hope she’s otherwise engaged, and not about to descend on him from above with righteous fury on her side. The little doorless room to the right is filled with boxes of medical supplies and a desk he can only assume she’s adopted for herself. He pokes his head in, just to be sure she’s not there, and then makes his escape while he still can.

He doesn’t know where he is, but wanders around until he finds a staircase. At the bottom there’s a fire exit held ajar by broken fire extinguisher that leads onto the courtyard outside where a few people he doesn’t recognise are milling around. He can’t see Cody, but he does find Ahsoka perched at the top of a pile of debris talking to Fives and Echo.

“They’re my dads _and_ my brothers,” Ahsoka attempts to explain to a fascinated Echo. “Like, Obi-Wan is most definitely my dad, and Skyguy is definitely my brother, but he’s also Obi-Wan’s brother, which makes _Obi-Wan_ my brother too. Obi-Wan is also the closest thing Skyguy has to a dad.”

Echo nods non-the-wiser, and he looks away guiltily at being caught gossiping as Obi-Wan approaches. Ahsoka smile guilelessly as he gets closer, waving from her perch.

“Hey, Obi-Wan,” she says, “feeling better?”

Well, he’s certainly felt worse. “Where’s Cody?”

He ignores the _Look_ Fives and Echo share.

Ahsoka shrugs. “Last I saw, he and Rex were talking to some of the prisoners in the dining room. That was about half an hour ago, though.”

He nods his thanks and turns to leave, only to find Jango walking directly towards him. Because his day is already going brilliantly.

“Er…” Fives says, “I’m going to go and help Kix.”

“Me too,” Echo mutters.

Ahsoka jumps of her perch and runs off after them, but only after she’s shot a pitying look in his direction. Obi-Wan sighs.

Jango stops a few feet away with his arms crossed, imitating the emotional range of a paving slab. “Follow me,” he says, and turns on his heel back the way Obi-Wan came.

He doesn’t even bother to protest, and wonders if this is how he dies.

Jango leads him through a maze of corridors and walls that have been blasted through in a poor attempt at interior design, until he’s fairly sure the only way he’s getting out is by accident. It’s dark inside, and it’s only Jango’s torch that allows them to see, which does nothing to settle his nerves. They end up outside a large room that’s been poorly renovated with a metal cage around the door and a padlock someone has cut through.

“This is the armoury we found,” Jango says by way of an explanation, and pushes the cage aside to get in.

Obi-Wan is a little in awe of what they find inside – and not in a good way. Rows and rows of rifles are stacked in wooden racks. Batons and riot shields lean against one wall, and when the light of the torches flit from crate to crate he sees they’re full of pyrotechnics and explosives. Ammunition boxes take up most of the room, and the level of preparation and firepower they elude to only serves as a reminder that the Separatists really are here, in Coruscant, and they’re here in force.

In the centre of the room is a work bench, where a long, thin package wrapped in a spool of dark fabric is resting. Jango stops in front of it and turns to Obi-Wan, gesturing for him to open it. He tries not to let his confusion show as he does, using his one good arm with difficulty.

“I didn’t know what else to do with it, and the Witch ran off with the scabbard, so I left it in here.”

Inside is the sword he won from Ventress, cleaned of any blood – _Aayla’s_ blood – and dirt. He runs a finger along the edge of the curve; the metal is still sharp and it’s clear the blade has been well maintained by someone who knows what they’re doing. It’s a dusky black that gleams menacingly in the torchlight, the strange, angry characters of Massassi inscribed on the flat of the blade. The hilt has been carefully wrapped in bands of hardened leather and it fits with a disturbing ease in his hands.

By right and the laws of combat, the weapon is his.

“You’re the only one who can wield it,” Jango continues, “and we have no use for it.”

Them and us. _You_ and _we_.

“You should take it with you when you go.” There’s something hard about Jango’s words. Cody must have told him they were leaving.

It’s the weapon of a SITH, something he is decidedly not, no matter the questions he has for his faith, or his own denial of the JEDI. And that makes him hesitate. To take the weapon would not make him a SITH – the process is far more involved than that, it’s a _mindset_ not a perverse badge to be earned – but it might _signal_ to others that he is a SITH, no matter how few there are left that could recognise such a sign. And it hurts something inside him to raise the weapon of a SITH, because it feels like an insult to every JEDI that died to defeat them and every trooper that ever followed him into battle.

But, Jango is right. He’s one of the few people who can wield this sword and he can use it to protect his family. It may not be the same style or weight he’s proficient with, but he didn’t have a reputation as one of the best swordsmen in the Order for no reason. He can _adapt_.

“I will.”

Jango nods stiffly, and Obi-Wan slides it into his belt, resting it above his hip with a familiarity that shouldn’t make him _burn_.

It chills him to the core to know that SITH are still being trained and unleashed upon the world. Ventress is not from his time, but afterwards. He doesn’t know if she was a part of the War at the end – he wouldn’t know, because SITH secrets were only divulged to JEDI – or if she rose from the ashes after the end of the world, but either is proof of the SITH’s endurance. Her existence is as much a promise of more SITH to come, as it is a threat of their reach.

And more SITH can only mean suffering for those already barely holding on.

“You were looking for my son,” Jango acknowledges after a pause. He’s watching Obi-Wan with the aire of someone who isn’t quite sure where they stand in his presence anymore.

He’s not Obi-Wan’s partner’s father, or his _Mand’alor_ , or even the leader of the group he’s a member of. Their role in each other’s lives is unclear, not least because Obi-Wan doesn’t understand where his place in the new order of things is. And it makes the grounds for any interaction between them _unstable_ , because the only role Jango has any claim to is _concerned father_.

“I was.”

“He told me you’d already said everything there was to say between you.”

Obi-Wan winces. “That… may not be true.”

Jango hums, unimpressed. “Do me a favour, after you’ve said your piece. Say goodbye to him before you go.”

Then he turns and leaves, forcing Obi-Wan to trail behind him if he doesn’t want to be left behind in the darkness. The blade bumps scalding against his leg as he walks.

He’s left at the foot of the stairs when Jango ascends to visit the infirmary, and he takes a moment to collect himself. He always seems to come away from any interaction with Jango feeling chastised, no matter what was said, and while he still feels so now, there’s also a healthy dose of confusion he knows isn’t entirely his own.

Jango – the man notorious for his stubbornness and sense of self-assurance – is unsettled by Obi-Wan, which makes _him_ unsettled in turn. Perhaps not the best mind set to have when he’s about to approach Cody, but he doesn’t want to delay any more than he already has. He wants to know what ground the two of them stand on, wants closure – _proper_ closure, not ill-advised questions and awkward avoidance – before he leaves. And he may have waited five years, but now he doesn’t want to wait five more minutes.

Outside, the sun is high in the sky and beats hot against the pavement. There are a couple of groups still in the yard, scavenging the debris or talking to one another, and he nods in their general direction. They don’t look _too_ much the worse for wear, despite their time in a Separatist training camp. It isn’t lost on him, that this has probably been the best they’ve eaten in a while. Anakin had told him that perhaps thirty of the original two-fifty had stayed after their fight. The rest had scattered at the first sight of freedom, or gone in search of their lords and masters.

Nobody says it’s only so long before they themselves need to leave. None of them are naive enough to believe the Clankers won’t hit back, and hit hard, but for the moment, everyone seems to be living in blissful ignorance.

The other building is teeming with more life, and the gas lamps are still flickering on the walls or suspended from the ceiling to light his way. He can vaguely remember where the dining room is – many things have happened since he was last there – but he follows the noise and gets there anyway.

Without several hundred people to fill it, the voices inside echo distortedly, and it’s not hard to find who he’s looking for. Cody is sat at table not far from the one they first sat at, with Rex Padmé, Arla and four people he doesn’t recognise. They’re all listening with serious expressions to a dark-skinned man with an eyepatch and a bandaged hand as he gesticulates his narrative.

Before Obi-Wan can lose his nerve, he approaches the table. Rex sees him before he gets to the table, but Cody’s back is to him, and Rex pokes his brother in the side and mutters something in his ear. Cody turns around, and raises an eyebrow questioningly at him.

“Can we talk?” Obi-Wan asks.

Cody doesn’t respond, but seems to deliberate instead in a way that only makes more nervous, then nods and makes his apologies to the group. Padmé gives him a small nod of encouragement as he slides out of his seat and heads over.

“Somewhere more private?” Cody doesn’t wait for an answer, leading the way back out of the dining room.

Obi-Wan follows in silence as they make their way along to the end of the corridor and up a flight of stairs until they pass the top floor and end up walking through a door onto the roof. It’s still hot up here, but there’s a breeze that wicks away the sweat beading on his skin from the effort of the climb. He wipes it away self-consciously anyway, and runs a hand through his hair to straighten it out.

Cody walks right up to the edge, to look down on the compound below. There’s an abandoned sniper nest to his right, that Obi-Wan gives a curious cursory glance before moving to stand a foot or so behind him. It’s not quite as high as the roof they were on with Aayla, but then neither are the rest of the buildings around them, so they can see just as far. Towards the centre of town the buildings get taller and closer together, the roof of the townhall just visible sticking out amidst the newer builds. The rives glistens near the horizon, and on the opposite bank the abandoned docks and cranes are silhouetted against the skyline. Towards the west, there’s a fire damaged patch of black he’s not seen before that spreads for several streets, then peters out.

The town feels abandoned, and if he didn’t know there was life here, hidden in the cracks and the dark, he’d think they were alone at the end of the world.

Cody turns to him. “What did you want to talk about?”

He almost starts with _Aayla told me to say_ , but he’s not a child. He can do this for himself. He _needs_ to. Even if that means talking about his _feelings_.

“I just…” he trails off, trying to remember what he’s here to do. “Closure,” he says more firmly, “we both need closure.”

Cody drags his eyes back to Obi-Wan and nods.

“I love you,” Obi-Wan tells him, absolutely sincere. “I don’t think I ever really stopped, and it’s made this last fortnight-” _difficult_ , _unbearable_ , “-hard. I know I shouldn’t, that I don’t have the right, but I can’t seem to help it, and it’s only getting worse the longer I stay. That’s the real reason I have to go.” He can tell he has Cody’s entire undivided attention, and so he forges on. “I am truly sorry for what I put you through, and I need you to know that I didn’t do it to hurt you. That was never my intention.”

He can’t say it hadn’t been intentional, because it _had_. He’d known exactly what he was doing when he made the choice. He just hadn’t wanted to make it.

“I know,” Cody says, so _tiredly_. “I know you wouldn’t, I was too angry to see that before, but now I _can_. I’ve spent so long clinging to that anger to keep going, that when I saw you again I didn’t know what else to do but hold on to it harder. Then I found out it was to save ‘Soka, and I _can’t_ anymore. It’s so wearing, and I hate, hate being angry at you when all I really want is to have you back.”

Obi-Wan’s heart summersaults, churning all of the coherent thoughts he’d outlined into a confused mess all over again. Cody wants him _back_. And there would have been a time where that was enough, but their time apart has made his realise that alone won’t keep them together.

“Would you do it again?” Cody asks.

And Obi-Wan’s heart sinks again, because he has to be honest, that was the whole point of this conversation. “How could I not?”

Cody nods and casts his gaze back away distractedly. “I still love you too, you know.”

And that does _funny_ things to his chest, like a small flock of birds taking flight.

“Don’t think this past fortnight has been _hard_ for just you,” Cody continues. “Every time I look your way, I’m reminded that it was me that walked away, that I didn’t let you explain or even stop to think, and it cost us all this. That will always be on me.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head in violent disagreement. “That isn’t on you. I lied to you, let you think I’d _died_. I put you through all of that, and it means that’s on me.”

“I just want things to go back to the way they were, but they can’t, can they?”

Even without the apocalypse, things could never go back to the way they were, not after everything that has happened. They can never go back to just being Cody and Obi-Wan and the simplicity that came with it, because they can never go back to a time before all the doubt and confusion and hurt. Pretending none of that happened would be worse, he thinks, and tear them apart more quickly than anything else.

Some things are just not meant to be.

“No, they couldn’t,” Obi-Wan agrees. And then, “I don’t want to go,” he whispers.

Cody’s head flicks up and he turns his entire body to face Obi-Wan. “Stay with me?” he asks again, so _hopefully_.

And that’s not the same request as before; he’s asking Obi-Wan to be something more than a part of the furniture. But it’s not explicit and Obi-Wan needs it to be, to prove they can communicate with each other. And when he speaks, it’s the fear talking, because Obi-Wan is afraid he’s hearing what he _wants_ to hear, and not what Cody means at all. “We don’t work Cody,” he answers, sadly and it makes his shrivelled heart clench painfully. “I’m sorry.”

And he is so, _so_ sorry. Because it’s the thing he wants most in the world, his heart’s most selfish desire, but if they can’t _talk,_ they can’t be together without repeating the same mistakes forever more.

“Please,” Cody whispers crestfallen, and that’s _not fair_. Cody doesn’t _beg,_ but he _is_. And he doesn’t know what to _do_. “I can’t lose you a second time.”

And he can feel his heart breaking all over again.

“Cody…” he hesitates, but it needs to be said. “What do you want from me exactly, because I _can’t_ _tell_. _Why_ do you want me to stay? Is it because you can’t imagine it any other way or because don’t _want_ it to be any other way? We don’t _talk_ about what matters and that’s how we got to here.”

“You want to know what I’m thinking?” Cody asks, and he looks like he finally understands. “I want you to be by my side, where you should be. As my _cyare_. These last few weeks have made me realise I wasted five years we could have had together, for _no_ _reason_. I want back what we had before, when we were everything to each other, and if I can’t have that, then I want whatever you’ll give me. I love you, Obi-Wan, and I want you back, if you’ll have me?”

And Obi-Wan _flails_. Because as statements go, that _is_ explicit, but it took asking to get it and he doesn’t _know_. He isn’t good at this kind of thing, at relationships or making himself vulnerable. He doesn’t want to hurt Cody again, and it’s inevitable they’ll hurt each other in this world, because if one of them dies than the other will never forgive them. The galaxy is set on trying to kill them at the moment, and that’s only going to get worse now the SITH and the Separatists are involved again.

But Cody is more than worth that fear. He still loves Cody, and inexplicably Cody still loves him, and it’s Cody asking _him_ to come back this time. And he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t take the second chance the galaxy is handing them on a silver platter.

Because if he leaves now, _he_ will be the one walking away from family.

“ _Please_.” It comes out hoarse and a little desperate, and he realises there’s a reason his face is wet.

“Is that a yes?”

“ _Yes_.”

This isn’t closure, but it’s so much better than closure.

Cody steps a little closer, and then pulls back, unsure.

“Can I touch you?” Cody asks, hesitantly, and Obi-Wan realises he doesn’t look anywhere near as happy as he feels in this moment because he’s _crying_ of all things, and that’s probably not very convincing at all, but he can’t help himself.

He nods his head and Cody’s hand comes up to rest on the side of Obi-Wan’s face almost reverently, his thumb wiping away the tear track under his eye. This close he can see Cody’s eyes are still a liquid golden brown, and they hold far more understand and hope than he could ever deserve.

“Can I kiss you?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Cody murmurs, and then his lips are on Obi-Wan’s and nothing else matters.

Not Ventress, or the War, or the Separatists, or Dooku. Not the knowledge they can’t stay here much longer, or that he’s carrying a SITH’s blade and she’s going to want it back, or the that they could all starve, or succumb to infection as early as tomorrow. There are so many ways everyone he loves could die horribly, and he’d be helpless to do anything to stop it.

But he has Cody back, which means he can do _anything_.

He doesn’t know which of them breaks the kiss first, but he’s starting to see literal stars, so he thinks he might have exerted himself a little too much.

Cody just smiles and lets Obi-Wan leans against him. “I never thought I’d be able to do that again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vod’ika - in this sense means niece   
> Cyare - beloved 
> 
> So this somehow got over 100K words (quarantine really had me writing something novel length), and I thought it would be better to have a bit of a break for clarification if nothing else. The next part will take off from where this finishes, so don’t worry, the story continues! (There are so many threads at his point, and it's become waaay more complicated than I initially intended and decided on it's own to become a series).
> 
> Thanks for all the support up to now, you’re all amazing!
> 
> The first chapter of The JEDI Problem should be out next Friday (19/6/20), so keep an eye out and stay safe x

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my laptop for a while and it suddenly seems I have the time to give it some attention. The next few chapters are already written and should be up shortly, they just need editing.  
> Comments and Kudos are appreciated (always) x


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